


Arizona

by Jejunus (JejuneSins)



Series: Learnin' the Blues [4]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Drugs, F/M, Psychological Trauma, Torture, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-25 22:14:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 36,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15649971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JejuneSins/pseuds/Jejunus
Summary: The worst has come to pass—a hunt that’s been two years in the making has finally culminated in victory for Vulpes Inculta as his men finally catch up to the fabled Courier. A clock is ticking for Joan as she focuses on only one thing: survival.Into the darkness we go.





	1. Renegade

Chapter 1: Renegade

_The jig is up, the news is out, they finally found me: the renegade who had it made_

        Joan reared back, cracking a whip at the brahmin in front of her and digging her heels in hard to the wood paneling of the cart. At the sound of gunfire all her terror evaporated, replaced with fiery resolve to survive. The brahmin startled and charged forward, sand and dust billowing out behind them. X6-88 was leaned around the back of the tarp, shooting blindly behind the wagon as Joan gritted her teeth and squinted against the sun as it was disappearing behind the flat landscape before them.

        Behind her she could hear further gunfire, and the sound of hooves. She tossed her head, glancing back—the Legionaries had a brahmin cart of their own and were in hot pursuit. She whipped her head back around and cracked the whip again, ignoring the pained braying of the cattle.

        “ _Go go go_ ,” she whispered, praying for them to run faster. Brahmin were surprisingly quick for their size, but it felt like they might as well have been charging through quicksand.

        “Ma’am, they’re catching up,” X6-88 said, his tone cool in spite of everything. He leaned over again and fired several quick shots. A scream pierced the cool night air and she heard a rolling thump fall away into the distance. She mentally whooped as she urged the cart forward.

        Her victory was short lived—she cast her head back again and could easily see the enraged faces of the Legionaries catching up, pulling up nearly beside her. She whipped her brahmin again and cursed as blood spatted against her cheek; they had been traveling almost nonstop for days now and her brahmin were exhausted. She hauled out the pistol Joshua Graham had given her and wildly aimed it at the cart as it rutted up against her own. She cursed loudly, her pistol nearly flying out of her grip as she jolted with the impact. Aiming awkwardly under her arm she prayed: to God, to the wrathful spirit on the canyon walls, to Randall Clark, to anyone who would listen as she fired.

        Please God, please let me be lucky again.

        Another scream tore the air and she risked looking beside her again—the cart was now neck and neck with her and her breath seemed to be caught in her chest as the saw a Legionary bent double, clutching his abdomen mere feet away from her. She yanked hard on the reins of her brahmin and they jerked to the left, smashing into the wheel spokes of the Legion’s cart. The Legionaries on board wobbled, lurching to the side with the impact and they yelled at her again, cursing her in Latin. They whipped their own brahmin and crashed back into her.

        “Duck, Ma’am,” X6-88 commanded, hauling himself to his feet and aiming over her. Joan bent forward obediently as X6-88 rained laser fire down on the Legionaries. Joan couldn’t suppress a grin at their screams, and she heard at least one other tumble off the side of the cart, thudding and rolling away into the dust, his cries of pain growing faint behind them.

        “Yes!” she cried, whipping her poor tired brahmin once again. They wailed and sped up, blood streaming from their hindquarters. She mentally promised to reward them with all the fresh fruit and feed she could supply them if they survived this.

        “Enough!” one of the Legionaries shouted, and she glanced at him. Her eyes jerked open wide as he drew a heavy looking revolver from his hip. She turned her face back to the open road ahead, sweat dotting her brow against the cold air. She was so close to home. She couldn’t afford to die, not now, not after everything she had done, had survived.

        Yet she had no illusions about her fate if the Legion did catch her. She knew the Legion, she knew Vulpes Inculta, she had witnessed his work firsthand at Nipton and again at Searchlight. Distantly she recalled the holotape she had discovered at Ranger Station Charlie, and the cold sickness that had spread all the way down to her fingertips: _we took one of the women alive_. She screwed her eyes shut and pushed the terrifying thought from her head. Survive survive survive, that’s all that mattered.

        She was still trying to keep the terrible thoughts at bay when the head of one of her brahmin exploded in front of her. She cried out in alarm, turning her face away as blood, viscera and jagged bits of bone spattered her face and chest. She slammed her mouth shut and mashed her lips together as she felt hot blood streaking her face. Her cart veered wildly out to the right as the other brahmin screamed, sounding nightmarishly human in the darkness. Gunfire rang in her ears and she ripped her eyes open again. The Legionaries were taking aim at her other brahmin, who was now running in terror, out of her control as the other galloped robotically by its side, it’s remaining head jerking and twitching. She yanked hard at the reins and tried to whip the brahmin back into submission but it couldn’t be tamed. It brayed again with fear and the cart lurched turbulently as it turned, trying to escape the bullets pelting the ground around it.

        X6-88 thrust out his hand, nearly falling on top of Joan as the cart almost upended itself. He cursed loudly, still trying to aim at the Legionaries.

        “Take her alive!”

        Fresh sweat poured down her brow and ice raced down her arms and fingertips. She cracked her whip again and struck her brahmin hard, catching it in the back. X6-88 was still leaning over her, protectively shielding her and she risked letting go of the reins with one hand to shove hard against his chest.

        “Get down! They want me!” she yelled, trying to push him back. X6-88 looked down at her, his dark glasses slipping down his nose and she saw worry in his eyes for the first time.

        “You're going to be okay, Ma—”

        Joan screamed, still staring into X6-88’s eyes as a stray bullet pierced his temple. The light extinguished and he slumped forward, his heavy dull weight crushing her. The reins flew out of her hand and she clawed at the air, reaching for something or someone, anything. Fear tore through her wild and fresh, and a deep stabbing pain, one that she had never felt before. Her eyes felt wet as she moved automatically, pushing futilely at the body and scrambling as her cart wobbled dangerously again. The gunfire had ceased and she could hear whooping, sickeningly joyful, from the Legion’s cart.

        Through the whoops she heard laughter.

        Her terror and anguish evaporated instantly, replaced with white hot hatred. She shoved X6-88’s corpse away and pulled her pistol from where she had tucked it between her thighs. She grasped the lip of the back of the cart and hauled herself to her feet, glaring at the Legion’s wagon, hot blood still dashed across her nose and cheeks. She fired erratically at them, barely managing to hold herself steady as her brahmin continued to tear through the night. Hateful pleasure rippled through her as their laughter was swiftly replaced with screams and she saw another red clad body collapse and fall from the cart. Wind tore through her hair and she glared at them, malicious and victorious. She lifted her gun and aimed again, pulling the trigger.

        Nothing. She clicked the trigger madly and the triumph bled from her face, replaced with horror. She looked back at the tarp covered cart; her spare ammunition was buried beneath a mountain of clothing and bottles of purified water. Even if her brahmin wasn’t still zigzagging uncontrolled in the dark there was no way she would be able to reach it under the false bottom of the cart. The Legionaries were driving up close beside her again, a few of them reaching their gloved hands out at her. She tossed her head, squinting out into the darkness. There was nothing, nobody. She looked down at X6-88’s body, only for a moment, before tearing her eyes away and screwing them shut.

        Survival. That was all that mattered.

        The Legion cart jostled against her again and she gritted her teeth and committed, as she had always done. She thrust her pistol into the waistband of her jeans and leaped from the cart, away from the Legionaries. Craning her neck she pinned her chin to her chest and pulled her arms up protectively as she slammed into the ground, doing her best to roll with the momentum; she cried out in pain as Joshua’s gun stabbed hard into her hipbone. Faintly she could hear yelling behind her as she rolled through the dirt and sand, cupping her hands protectively around her glasses.

        After what felt like a lifetime her rolling drew to a shuddery stop and she lay face down, breathing heavily and wincing at the pain shooting up her arms and digging into her hip. She heard the Legionaries shouting again and she groaned, springing off her palms to scramble to her feet. There was no time to rest now. She stood shakily; nothing seemed to be broken or too badly injured. She jerked her head up, shoving her glasses back into place. The Legion cart was drawing to a jagged halt. In the distance she could see her own cart slowing down, her brahmin either finally dead or totally exhausted. She turned and ran, her boots pounding into the sand as she tore off into the night, too afraid to look back.


	2. I'm a Wanted Man

Chapter 2: I’m a Wanted Man

_The law ain’t never been a friend of mine, I would kill again to keep from doing time; you should never ever trust my kind_

        Sand caught in Joan’s throat and she heaved, coughing and sputtering. She had been running, running, and running, she didn’t even know for how long. The muscles in her calves seared and burned, her lungs on fire. She craned her neck, daring to look over her shoulder: there was nothing but cold blue desert behind her, illuminated only by a sliver of moon that hung dead in the sky. She skidded, tripping over the rocks and sand and fell down hard on her knees, hissing in pain.

        She panted heavily and felt as though she were going to be sick, the dryness in her throat painfully catching the air she inhaled. She looked around, trying to quell the terror and nausea. The only things dotting the landscape were scrub brush and the occasional rolling tumbleweed. No hint of a town or village. Fortunately no hint of Legionaries either as she looked behind her into the cold darkness; no trace of movement on the horizon, no hint of red. For the moment she was safe, at least as safe as she could be, exposed as she was.

        Finally she slumped backward, sitting cross-legged in the sand and patted herself down: her glasses were intact, her case of Med-X was still firmly ensconced in her coat, and her pistol was tucked into the waistband of her jeans. She drew it out and put it back into its home on her hip. She mourned her sniper rifle; it was lying concealed in the wagon cart, surely being raked over thoroughly by Legionaries by now. It was a fitting end for it, she supposed—she had plucked it off the corpse of a Legion assassin, one sent for her by the original Caesar himself. She laughed grimly—war never changes.

        Drawing her arm up she shoved aside the sleeve of her baggy coat. She did at least still have her Pipboy. She cranked through a few directories until she arrived at her selection of maps; she was firmly in New Mexico now, not even remotely close to the Oklahoma border. Next she twisted the dial and brought up her radio: nothing nearby. She cursed. If she were only in range of a single radio tower, she could send a message to Yes Man. At least for the moment she could record one and send it as soon as she found a signal. The thought bolstered her; not all hope was lost. If she could drum up even a weak radio signal it would be enough. She would have an army’s worth of Securitrons flying through the desert to rescue her and escort her safely back home. She rechecked her map and made a mental note of her coordinates before popping open the messages tab on her Pipboy.

        “Yes Man, I’m in very serious trouble. The Legion has discovered me and are currently searching for me. I’m trapped alone in the desert.” She paused before rattling off the coordinates of her current location. “I’m trying to find my way to a town so I can even send this fucking message. Please… please find me soon.”

        Her lip trembled. This could be her chance to say her last goodbyes, if the worst happened. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly. No, she thought. I won’t give in. I won’t give up. This isn’t the end.

        “I miss you. I’ll see you all soon,” she said softly, saving the message with a click. She lowered her Pipboy and felt raw and tired and sick all over again. She was alone. More alone than she had been since she started this journey, perhaps even since she had woken up in Doc Mitchell’s house, dazed and able to recall only her name. She drew her knees up to her chest and pulled her coat tight around her, shivering in the frigid desert night. She wished she had her bible to comfort her as she closed her eyes, gently rocking back and forth before she finally fell into a fretful wiry doze.

***

        She fell in and out of fitful sleep for the next few hours. Every time she closed her eyes she saw X6-88 over her, staring into his worried brown eyes.

_I’m sorry you got caught up in this. You didn’t deserve it. I don’t know if you have a soul or if you really are just a machine, but I pray to God for you. I wish this had never happened._

        She mashed her face into her arms and screwed her eyes shut, her stomach aching from clenching to try to keep herself together. She swallowed hard and managed to doze off again, desperate for relief, desperate to fall into the darkness once more.

        Some time later she opened her eyes again. The sun was just cresting over the horizon and she cupped her hands around her eyes, feeling sick again. Her throat was parched and dry. Anxiety slithered through her, wrapping around her insides and squeezing hard; she was alone in the desert. She had no water and no food. She breathed steadily, willing her heartbeat to keep a steady pace. The last time she had drank water was when they were still in Oklahoma last night. They. She pressed her eyes shut and pushed away the thought of X6-88. Survive.

        Joan stretched her legs out and winced. They were tense and sore, as hard as rocks beneath her jeans. She massaged the meat of her calves, trying to relax the tension before pulling herself to her feet, shaky and wobbly. She hurt all over from her tuck and roll from the cart the previous night. She lifted her coat and shirt—a swelling bruise was already blooming on her hip from her gun. She let her shirt fall and looked at her Pipboy again. No nearby signs of civilization. She glanced around before deciding to just pick a direction and stick to it—she sure as hell wasn’t going to find help or a radio tower crouching in the sand and crying. She steeled herself and began walking west, the rising sun against her back.

        She had been walking for a few hours, her coat tied around her waist, the desert sun hot on her black hair. She missed her hat more than ever. Periodically she lifted her Pipboy to check her surroundings. Grimly she could understand why the Legion would have had an easy time taking New Mexico—there was nothing here. Nothing but slanted Joshua trees and dry patches of scrub that waved stiffly in the rare warm breeze. Even in January it was hot. She pressed on.

        An hour had passed and she checked her Pipboy again. She gasped; at the furthest northwest edge of her Pipboy screen she spied what looked like a small settlement. She immediately altered her course, her pace picking up from a slow and sluggish trudge to a fast walk. _Water_. Water water water, her throat cried, aching for relief. Her tongue felt as rough as sandpaper in her mouth and she swallowed jerkily.

        “Oh thank fucking God,” she cried as low slung buildings and crops finally peeked over the horizon. She abandoned her conservation of energy and began sprinting for the village, ignoring the searing in her calves. She ran the last mile or so to the town before skidding to a stop—in her maddening thirst for water she had not considered that there would most likely be Legion presence in this town. She halted and crouched low behind what looked like a saloon. Fortunately she hadn’t seen anyone just yet. It looked to be a very small settlement, smaller even than Goodsprings, with only a scattering of small shacks and a saloon, the rest of the land taken with crops of corn and beans.

        She looked down at herself—she was still splattered with brahmin blood. Grimacing, she swiped at her shirt, sending crusty brown dust and dried bits of what was most likely brain scattering into the air. She touched her face; she could feel dried blood streaking her cheek. She pressed her lips together, trying not to feel sick again. Working up as much saliva as she could muster—dehydrated as she was—Joan licked her palm and scrubbed hard at her face. She had no way of knowing if she had removed all the blood; she hoped it was good enough. She would have to live with the grisly brown stains streaking her clothing.

        She hesitated, debating what to do with her coat. Within it was her case of Med-X; if she was going to be so unlucky as to be captured, she needed a backup plan. If death was inevitable she was damn well going to try to kill herself first, rather than let Vulpes Inculta have the satisfaction. Although—as terrible as it was to contemplate—she was grateful for the fact that he liked to torment his victims; anything that bought her more time for her Securitrons. Survive. That was all that mattered.

        She unlaced her coat from her waist and tugged it back on, dusting away the cattle blood that crusted the surface. This was as good as it was going to get. She smoothed her hair, straightened her glasses and circled the saloon before quietly pressing open the entrance door and stepping inside.

        Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness inside and she blinked. Once her vision cleared, she spied a number of patrons. Judging from the limited number of shacks outside it would seem that most of the residents of the village were likely in the bar. No Legionaries, thank God. As was custom in Legion territory they were all sipping bottles of water and Sunset Sarsaparilla. The air was clean and free of cigarette smoke. Most of the patrons were men, but a few women were scattered; a couple of women in long dresses and aprons were huddled, sharing a small laugh in a corner booth; another was sitting at the bar nursing a rare Nuka Cola. One of the women stuck out to Joan: an older looking tan skinned woman, wearing a dingy white tank top and well worn boots. A short barreled shotgun was strapped to her back. She had twisted when the saloon door opened, glancing at Joan before turning back to the bar and lifting a bottle to her lips. Joan approached the opposite end of the bar from her and climbed up on a stool. A tired looking old woman with frizzy grey hair stepped up to her with a rag in hand.

        “What can I get ya, darlin’,” she asked. Joan looked at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar before answering—she looked alien to herself, though at least she could appreciate that her face was mostly clean. Joan was on the verge of requesting a bottle of water when a dark realization struck her.

        All her caps were in the caravan cart.

        She frantically patted her coat and searched her pockets: nothing, zilch, nada. Panic welled within her; she couldn’t remember a time when she had been penniless. A wave of misery at the fresh level of hopelessness she felt washed over her. She was used to having riches beyond imagining—House had left an almost uncountable mass of caps in his death, money that she had put to damn good use. She cursed.

        “I don’t have any caps on me,” she stammered. “… or Denarii. Please, I’ve been wandering the desert for—for days now. I’m so thirsty, please can I have a bottle of water. Just one, that’s all I ask. I’ll pay you back once I get home,” she continued, her terrible thirst outweighing the humiliation she felt at being reduced to begging. The bartender immediately looked suspiciously hesitant. Joan was on the verge of pleading with her again, willing to let the tears she’d been holding at bay since the previous night fall if she thought it would earn her even a sip when a movement at the edge of her vision caught her attention. The tanned woman had approached her, perching on the stool next to Joan. She caught her eye and smiled, her brown eyes rich and friendly.

        “Two Sunset Sarsaparillas and a few bottles of water, please,” she said, sliding a number of caps across the bar. The bartender looked relieved and pocketed the money before turning to fetch the order. Joan thanked her lucky stars, pressing her eyes closed for a moment before turning to the stranger.

        “Thank you so much,” she said, extending her hand. “You don’t see too many good Samaritans these days. I’m Jo—Jael. It’s nice to meet you.”

        The woman took her hand immediately and gave her a firm handshake.

        “Drusa. Don’t sweat it, we’ve all been there. No offense, but you look like you’ve been through the fuckin’ wringer,” she laughed. For the first time since crossing the Legion checkpoint Joan felt some of the tension in her body melt away.

        “You have no idea,” Joan replied, her eyes lighting up as the bartender set their drinks in front of them. She immediately seized a bottle of water and cracked it open, pressing it to her lips and upending the bottle. It was better than anything she had ever tasted before; as if God himself had offered it to her, sweeter than agave, finer than the best whiskey. She drank the entire bottle in several long gulps, rivulets of water streaming from the corner of her mouth and cutting a line through the sweat and grit that dusted her throat. She slammed the empty bottle on the bar, exhaling loudly and wheezing, feeling much more lively. Drusa sat watching her, a smile around her eyes. Joan tore into the bottle of Sunset Sarsaparilla next, popping it open on the edge of the counter and drinking deeply. She wasn’t usually a fan of the overly sweet drink but she welcomed the sugar, the energy, the calories. She was halfway through the bottle when she caught herself, turning back to Drusa and smiling apologetically.

        “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be rude. I really have been traveling in the desert for a while now,” she said. Drusa nodded before glancing around conspiratorially; she withdrew a flask from one of the pockets of her cargo pants and dribbled some of the contents into her own bottle of Sarsaparilla. She winked at Joan before taking a long sip, closing her eyes with pleasure. The bartender watched her with raised eyebrows before turning away nervously, wiping a glass clean with her tattered rag.

        “Like I said, don’t worry,” Drusa reiterated, grinning at her. Joan couldn’t help but smile back. She liked this woman, with her shotgun and carefree attitude. The faint smell of whiskey emanated from her bottle as she continued to drink and she was reminded of Cass. She prayed she would see her soon, her heart aching with homesickness again.

        “So, where you heading to?” Drusa asked. Joan hesitated.

        “Ah… not too sure, really. I decided I’d just take off, you know? Be free. Guess I could have planned that better,” she said, chuckling nervously.

        “Wow, all on your lonesome?” Drusa asked, impressed. “That’s pretty damn ballsy. What made you wanna leave?”

        Joan anxiously tapped her heel against the stool she was sitting on.

        “Had to get out and stretch my wings. I… I’m from a very small town. Wanted to see what it’s like somewhere bigger and better,” she lied, thinking of a combination of Goodsprings and the advice she’d given Follows-Chalk long ago.  As always, the best and easiest lies to tell were those rooted in truth. Drusa laughed.

        “I know exactly what you mean. I took off from my hometown too. Always did know there was something much better for me out here.” She paused, eyeing Joan.

        “You know, it’s pretty goddamn dangerous out here, with all these Legion kooks,” she continued. The patrons of the saloon stiffened, glancing anxiously at Drusa. She glowered back at them, her wide jaw set firmly as she planted her hand on her hip. Joan nodded at her and drank more of her water, her Sunset Sarsaparilla long gone.

        “Yeah,” she said noncommittally, not wanting to draw attention to herself and wishing the patrons would go back to their own business.

        “Well I’m just saying, the Legion freaks are everywhere out here. We could stick together if you want,” she said. Joan’s eyebrows shot up.

        “Ah, no no, I couldn’t,” Joan replied. “I don’t want to put you out. I’ll be fine.”

        Drusa contemplated her for a moment.

        “Well how about just to the next town over then? I was heading out in that direction anyway. Santa Rosa ain’t too far out, should be just about a half a day’s walk from here. It’s a lot bigger than this podunk village, maybe you could find some work or something there to get you by,” she said, staring earnestly at Joan. Joan bit the inside of her lip as she felt doubt tugging at her nerves. She worried what might become of this woman if they did travel together, even briefly. Her stomach clenched painfully with guilt as she thought of X6-88; she had failed him. His blood might as well be on her own hands, for bringing him out west, for dragging him into a conflict that he had no business being a part of. On the other hand, she had no food, no water, no ammunition. Undeniably it would be safer to travel with a companion, at least for a little while. She couldn’t bear to let his sacrifice be in vain. And if Santa Rosa was bigger, they would almost assuredly have a radio tower that she could use.

        “Are you sure?” Joan asked cautiously.

        “Hell yeah. I’ve been traveling alone for a while too, and it’s boring as shit. It would be great to have company for a little bit at least—and I can handle myself, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Drusa replied brightly, reaching up and patting her shotgun. Joan finally relented and smiled at her.

        “Well alright then, if you’re sure I’m not inconveniencing you. But um…” she hesitated. Now that the immediate threat of dehydration was gone, her stomach roared to life, clenching and gurgling within her.

        “Oh, you must be hungry,” Drusa said. “I’m so sorry! I should have noticed sooner. Hey barkeep, you got any food back there?”

        The bartender turned to look at them, her expression reluctant.

        “Sure thing,” she said wearily before disappearing into a room behind the bar. After a few minutes she returned with a small tray of food. Bread, corn, banana yucca, and a small lump of charred bighorner meat lay on it. Joan’s mouth instantly watered.

        “You eat up, I already had my fill earlier,” Drusa said, patting her flat stomach. Joan had the bighorner meat halfway to her mouth when she paused.

        “Thank you so much, Drusa. This is a real lifesaver. I’ll pay you back when I can,” she said gratefully before tearing into her meal. Mentally she promised to give Drusa a lifetime’s worth of caps for her kindness once she returned to New Vegas. Drusa returned her smile and slid a small bag of caps over the bar to the old woman. She swiped it away, counting the contents before stowing them in her dress pocket.

        “I’m just being neighborly. I’m sure you’d do the same thing,” she said, keenly watching Joan cram the yucca fruit into her mouth with her chin propped in her hand.

        They sat quietly as Joan continued to eat, devouring far beyond her usual fill, taking large glugs of water between each bite. It wasn’t fancy, but it was heavenly, which suited Joan just fine. After several minutes she pushed the tray away, nothing left on it except the gnawed core of the corn and the coin-like black seeds scooped out of the yucca. She wiped her mouth on the back of her coat sleeve, sighing contentedly.

        “Thank you again, Drusa. That was fantastic,” Joan said. She felt almost drowsy with her sated stomach, her tongue wet and happy in her mouth again. Drusa pushed away from the bar, hopping lightly to her feet from the stool.

        “Good! I know you look comfy and all, but we really should get going, if we wanna hit Santa Rosa by sundown. You ready?”

        Joan slid out of her stool, grinning.

        “Let’s do it,” she said. Drusa ordered a few bottles of water for the trip from the bartender and stowed them in her pockets; the two set out and headed west, the sun high in the sky above them.


	3. Knock Me Down

Chapter 3: Knock Me Down

_Born in the shadows of a violent machine, washing my brain of all that I believe_

        “So what made you take off alone?” Joan asked. They had been walking for hours, chatting idly about various things: music, food, books. Conversation topics that wouldn’t draw attention to Joan’s past or her (hopeful) future. Drusa looked at the sky ahead of them, squinting against the setting sun.

        “I didn’t like my old job. I felt trapped. I saw an opportunity out and I took it,” she said, more somber than she had been in the few hours that Joan had known her. Joan looked at her knowingly.

        “I understand. That’s not too far off from why I left. I think I’d like to go back home though… um, eventually. What about you?”

        “Home?” Drusa asked. There was something strange in her tone, and Joan felt a touch of nervousness for the first time since they had been traveling together. Drusa laughed and it had a hard bitter edge to it.

        “No. I never want to go back there. That place is dead to me,” she said, grinning broadly. “Life is what you make of it—you’ve got to seize the reins. There’s nothing for me there now.”

        “Fair enough,” Joan said. She wondered what had happened to Drusa to make her so uncharacteristically agitated. She considered asking her about it but decided against it.

        “Oh, look!” Drusa pointed a long tan finger out and Joan followed it. Against the horizon was a number of buildings, and—Joan gasped. Even from here she could see the tall spire of a radio tower. She sped up, her heart rate accelerating. Yes, she thought frantically, yes yes yes I’m so close. She was on the verge of throwing caution to the wind and shoving up the sleeve of her coat and pressing the SEND button on her Pipboy, eager and anxious to get Yes Man and her Securitrons on their way when she stalled. She turned, wanting to thank Drusa again for her invaluable help. She craned her head around, smiling.

        The barrel of Drusa’s shotgun was aimed squarely at her face.

        “Looks like we’re almost there,” Drusa said, still smiling, rich and warm. There was no trace of malice in her face. Joan jumped and her heart raced much, much faster in her chest, spurred into action with fear. She swallowed hard, raising her shaking hands in defense. She felt dizzy.

        “Wh-why?” she asked. “Is it caps? I have more caps than you can imagine, I—I just need to get back home to get them, please, I’ll give you anything you want,” Joan rambled, cold sweat dotting her brow. Drusa jerked the barrel of her shotgun, indicating Joan to turn around. She squeezed her eyes shut as she complied. Survive. _Survive survive survive_ , she mentally chanted.

        “Oh I know you’ve got caps, Courier. The Legion knows _all_ about you. You should know that by now.”

        Joan gasped, panic exploding in her chest. She whipped around to face Drusa again, her shock outweighing her fear.

        “ _What_?” she asked jerkily. There was nothing warm about Drusa’s smile now; she was coldly reptilian in the dusky purple light. She lightly smacked the hollow of Joan’s cheek with the tip of her shotgun.

        “Turn around,” she ordered. Joan swallowed again and did as she was told, her fingertips frozen. Drusa darted forward and patted Joan’s sides and hips with her free hand. Joan internally cursed; by some fortune Drusa missed the pistol under her thick coat but it didn’t matter anyway since she was all out of ammunition. As soon as Drusa was finished with her cursory patdown she shoved the barrel of her shotgun between Joan’s shoulder blades, sending her stumbling forward.

        “Walk.”

        Joan complied, tottering forward. Santa Rosa loomed before them.

        “You’re with the Legion,” Joan stated rather than asked. She hoped she could bait Drusa into talking, into buying her some time. The edge of her Pipboy protruded from under her coat sleeve and she glanced at it.

        “Sure am,” Drusa said, chipper again. Joan’s brows creased together.

        “But… but _why_?” she asked incredulously. “You’ve got to know what they do to women. Why the hell would you work with them?” She was legitimately and horribly curious now, aghast that a woman would work for them. Surely this couldn’t be by choice.

        “Are they forcing you into this?” Joan continued. “If they are, I can help you, Drusa. You can come to Vegas with me. You’ll be safe there, I promise. You obviously know who I am—you know that I have the power to give you that. All you have to do is lower your weapon.”

        Drusa laughed loud and unpleasant, braying in the growing darkness. Joan stiffened.

        “Gods, you really are as stupid as Caesar told us,” she said with terrible mirth, pronouncing the name in the traditional Roman way. Joan gritted her teeth, anger rising hot within her.

        “They enslave women, for God’s sake!” Joan said loudly, the warmth of her anger rushing to her fingertips.

        “What makes you think I’m not a slave?” Drusa asked her, serious again. Joan stopped walking and Drusa prodded her hard in the back. She tripped and began walking again, her eyes wide.

        “Then let me fucking help you!” she cried, exasperated.

        “I don’t _need_ your help. Not all slaves are created equal,” Drusa said. Joan could hear the swell of pride in her voice. “Caesar recognizes the greatness in me. Did you know that I used to be a Desert Ranger, until I joined Caesar’s Legion?”

        Joan jerked her head, risking looking back at Drusa. She looked almost dreamy in the twilight.

        “You were a Desert fucking Ranger?” Rage bubbled beneath Joan’s surface and she exploded again. “But why! The Rangers are the best of the fucking best, why the fuck would you throw all of that away! Why would you be some—some Legionary’s cattle fucking bitch, when you could have been doing _literally anything else_?”

        “Because I’m not an idiot,” Drusa said coldly. “Back before the second Battle for Hoover Dam, I saw the tides turning. The NCR was in chaos—they didn’t stand a chance against the Legion. What’s that old saying… It’s better to rein in Hell than to serve in Heaven?”

        “But you’re not _reining_ over anything, you literally just told me that you’re a slave!” Joan cried, frustrated at Drusa’s bizarre logic. Drusa _tsk’ed_ her.

        “You’re so narrow minded, just like my Lord said you would be. I already told you, I’m better than the other slaves. Thanks to my background and my skill, Caesar recognizes my use in the field. I’ve been working with his Frumentarii for years now. I’m no one’s ‘ _cattle fucking bitch’_ as you so crudely put it,” Drusa said, distaste coloring her tone.

        “Caesar has been very good to me. I’m not personally enslaved by anyone, I live and work freely so long as it’s to serve him. He’s promised me my own house one day, you know. He told me I’ll be able to own slaves of my own then,” she continued, her voice growing girlish and sweet.

        “Are you fucking insane?” Joan asked, unafraid of the shotgun poking into her spine. “Vulpes Inculta is using you! As soon as he’s done with whatever usefulness he can drag out of you, you’re going to be bent over in a fucking tent—” She cried out in pain as Drusa struck her hard in the back with the butt of her shotgun, pitching forward almost to her knees before scrambling to straighten herself.

        “He is _Caesar_ now—you _will_ grant him the respect he deserves,” Drusa demanded. She mashed the tip of her gun into Joan’s back again, forcing her forward. “Caesar has always been true to his word with his Legion after he single-handedly built us back up. And once he sees that _I’m_ the one who’s brought him the Courier…” she trailed off mistily. Joan narrowed her eyes. She heard rustling behind her and the crackle of a walkie-talkie.

        “Legion outpost?” Drusa said into it, still marching Joan forward. She could see Santa Rosa quite clearly now.

        “State your business.”

        “This is Drusa. I have incredible news, I’ve captured the Courier—”

        “I am not a _courier_ —I’M THE LEADER OF FUCKING VEGAS!” Joan roared, the light inside her flaring explosively. She held her head high, her eyes blazing forward at the uniformed men already pouring out of the front gates of Santa Rosa. A gasp emanated from the radio.

        “ _The_ Courier? We’ll be right there.”

        Joan stiffened before drawing to a stop. Drusa prodded her forward, becoming agitated.

        “Get moving, you filthy profliga—”

        Joan jerked backward, thrusting her elbow out hard and catching Drusa in the stomach with it. She exhaled loudly, doubling over and Joan whipped around, grasping the barrel of the shotgun and yanking it forward. Drusa held onto it fiercely, and the two fought for it, tugging it back and forth before Joan kicked out, striking Drusa in the shin and causing her to stumble forward. She fell hard into Joan and the shotgun slipped from both their grips, spinning out onto the sand as they tumbled into the dirt. Drusa threw a punch at her, her fist landing painfully in her chest and Joan grunted before baring her teeth.

        “ _You idiot fucking bitch_ ,” Joan snarled, snatching Drusa’s fist as she tried to withdraw it to deliver another strike. She craned forward and buried her teeth into Drusa’s arm. She hoped the venomous hatred within her would transfer to Drusa and poison her, that she could feel even a fraction of the rage that flooded her, causing her to see red. She tasted blood.

        Drusa screamed, trying to yank her arm back. Joan kicked at her, kneeing her in the lower abdomen and Drusa gasped, doubling forward again. Joan let go of Drusa’s arm and headbutted her as she came down, her vision pulsing and tripling with the force of the blow. Drusa roared in pain before driving her elbow down into Joan’s sternum and it was her turn to cry out, rolling over onto her side in a ball of agony. She choked and spat out onto the sand, praying that she hadn’t cracked the bone. Drusa kicked out at Joan’s back, striking her heavy boot between Joan’s bruised shoulder blades and she cried out again before trying to scramble upright, clawing out for the shotgun. Drusa leaped at her, landing on her back and pinning her to the ground, digging her knee into Joan’s spine and breathing heavily. Joan thrashed, trying to buck her off.

        “I was a Desert Ranger, remember,” Drusa gasped triumphantly as she caught Joan’s wrists, pinning them in the sand on either side of her head, kneeling hard on her back. Joan struggled to breath in, her lungs aching. She kicked out uselessly and Drusa laughed at her.

        The sound of boots pounded up close to them and Joan gritted her teeth and clenched her hands into fists, her sharp exhales sending grains of sand billowing out in front of her face. Her glasses were askew.

        “This is her? The Courier?” a male voice asked above her. She could feel Drusa’s weight shift as she nodded.

        “It’s her, I’ve confirmed it,” she said. The Legionary clicked a radio on and spoke into it, calling for a brahmin cart and to radio ahead and let Caesar know that the hunt for the Courier was finally over; she had been successfully detained. Joan screwed her eyes shut, her breathing hitched and shuddery. Drusa briefly let go of one of Joan’s wrists and patted the back of her head like a dog.

        “My lucky day that I happened across you in that tiny little saloon,” she said merrily. “Not that it was accidental, of course. After your… display last night, at the checkpoint? Caesar immediately ordered his Frumentarii to scatter to all the nearby towns and villages. Imagine how I felt, seeing _the_ Courier creep into my saloon this morning. Did you really think you were inconspicuous? As short as you are, with your sunglasses on indoors? All that was missing was the hat. Truly it was Caesar’s will that I was there to welcome you,” she continued smugly.

        “We can take her from here, Drusa,” one the Legionaries said. She could hear several others around him, milling about and gawking at her.

        “Of course, sir” Drusa replied, immediately submissive. Joan felt a nauseating surge of renewed hatred for her. Drusa relaxed her grip on Joan’s wrists, beginning to climb off of her.

        Joan moved as fast as a snake the instant she was free to move; her hand dove to her hip under her coat, to the gun Joshua Graham had gifted her, had trained her to use with brutal efficiency. She spun around, hefting the gun by the barrel and used the momentum of her turn to slam the butt of the heavy pistol into the side of Drusa’s head. It collided with a dull _thock_ , leaving a terrible indent into the bone of Drusa’s temple, inches from her warm brown eyes, which barely had time to widen. The Legionaries around her yelled as Drusa pitched to the side, collapsing off of Joan with empty weight. Joan scrambled to her knees as fast as she could and tore off, kicking up sand in her wake, Legion hands scraping at her arms and legs as she narrowly broke free of them, shoving her gun back into her waistband.

        She couldn’t feel the burning in her legs as she ran, pumped with food, water and raw adrenaline. She sprinted in the opposite direction of Santa Rosa, fleeing into the cold night as she had done before.

        The Legionaries weren’t about to lose her again, though. Joan ground her teeth together as bullets whizzed around her, her lungs on fire as she ran harder than she ever had in her life. She didn’t dare glance back, focused only on pushing ahead. She had outrun them once, she would do it again, she would do it as many times as she had to. I am _not_ dying in fucking New Mexico, she roared inside her head.

        Agony exploded in her calf and she screamed, pitching forward into the sand, pain shooting electric up her arms as she landed on her palms. She screamed again and looked down. A gaping hole was torn into her shin; a bullet had entered through the back of her calf and ripped straight through, exploding with such force that meat, blood, and shards of bone spat out onto the sand in front of her, the fabric of her jeans jutting outward around the wound. She wheezed, clenching her calf and tossing her head. The Legionaries were charging at her, quickly closing the distance.

        She was running out of time. She shoved up the sleeve of her left arm and stabbed the SEND button that lie waiting on the screen of her Pipboy. The message instantly cleared and she gasped.

        She had been close enough to the radio tower. It had worked. Help was on the way.

        She heard yelling behind her and she dug hard into the inside of her coat, yanking out her case of Med-X. She fumbled it open and extracted a needle, shoving the tip of it into her thigh and depressing the plunger. Pain raged in her leg and she cried out again at the chem flooding into the meat of her thigh. She jerked the needle out—fortunately in one piece—and threw it away into the blue desert.

        She was playing a terrible waiting game now; if she was going to endure, she was going to be as high as fucking possible. In an instant gloved hands were all over her, pulling at her arms and shoulders She bucked them, her Med-X case tumbling to the sand. She still wasn’t going to give in without a fight. She jerked her elbow back, catching one of the Legionaries in the side and he grunted. They cursed at her in Latin again as they swarmed her. She fought back like a wild animal: kicking, biting, spitting at them. A few recoiled from her as she thrashed around, as slippery as a fish in their grip.

        “It’s just a woman, stop her!” one of them yelled before being struck in the chin by Joan’s boot. They had hefted her off her feet in their attempt to control her and she was kicking out as furiously as she could manage. He winced and stumbled backward, clapping a hand over his jaw.

        “Fuck you!” Joan bellowed as one of them grabbed her ankle, trying to still her. She gasped and heaved before starting to feel terribly sluggish—the morphine was kicking in. Her mind dulled and her movements slowed and the Legionaries seized on their opportunity, their fingers digging in hard into her upper arms, her ankles, her wrists. She groaned, the edges of her vision growing dark.

        “God, finally,” one of them said, sounding exhausted. He sounded murky and distant to Joan’s ears and she slapped at him, her hand caressing the front of his football pads ineffectually. She cursed them again, struggling to keep her eyes open and failing.


	4. Bury Me Face Down

Chapter 4: Bury Me Face Down

_Oh, I got troubles that won't let me be, but I won't get tired; thinkin' that they've won—it's only just begun_

        Joan’s eyes were closed. Beneath her she felt the trundling of a cart, the grunts and chuffing of brahmin ahead of them. Her heart beat faster as she couldn’t help but recall her first memories of this new life; she tried to tug her wrists apart and could not. Groggily she tried to kick her legs; she was bound at the ankles as well. She swallowed, at last registering the pain in her calf. It burned and burned.

        She opened her eyes. The moon dangled above her, a fraction thinner than it had been the night before. She blinked, feeling queasy.

        “Is it really her?” a voice said nearby. Joan opened her eyes again and turned her head. Six Legionaries were sitting in the cart with her, three on either side. She turned her head away from the voice, looking back up at the densely starred sky.

        “That will be for Caesar to determine. But I think so, yes. She put up a good fight. For a woman anyway,” another voice replied. Joan felt like she ought to have been slightly proud at the impressed tone in his voice—at least until the last words he said—but found that she felt too numbly detached to care.

        “I think she’s awake,” yet another voice said. Joan closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. She could feel them scrutinizing her.

        “You,” the voice continued, prodding her hard in the side. She hesitated before blinking up at him. A Decanus, judging from his feathered helmet. She narrowed her eyes at him.

        “Are you the Courier? Joan?”

        “Yes,” she replied dryly, seeing no point in lying. Even if these men didn’t recognize her, Vulpes Inculta would be able to instantly. “I’m the leader of New Vegas.”

        Despite the bandana that obscured his lower face she could feel the Decanus sneer down at her.

        “Don’t sound so proud of it. This is where you are now,” he said, jabbing at her with the tip of his boot. Joan bit her lip. Fuck it, she thought.

        She quickly bent double, headbutting the Decanus in the calf and he jumped back from her, startled. She laughed bitterly at him. She couldn’t have struck him any harder than a child might have, but it had been satisfying to see him flinch. She was still laughing when he raised his hand, bringing it down in a fist into her stomach. She grunted in pain, cringing inward.

        “Maybe we should Med-X her,” one of the Legionaries suggested nervously. Joan turned her head to look at him. He looked quite young. Too young to have been at the Dam. He was sitting as far away from her as he could manage, crammed into the cart as they all were. Joan stared hard at his goggles and she could see the apple of his throat bob as he swallowed.

        “That’s only for emergencies,” the Decanus replied, rubbing his shin.

        “I have some in my coat… or well I used to,” Joan interjected. She wasn’t going to squander an opportunity for relief. The high had worn off during the time she had been unconscious and the pain in her calf was steadily growing louder and louder.

        “You mean this?” The Decanus held up her slim metal case. Moonlight glinted off of it and Joan tried not to stare at it too longingly. The Decanus popped the case open and glanced at the contents. Joan waited with baited breath. He closed it again and tucked the case beside him onto the floor of the cart.

        “I don’t think so, degenerate. We’ll keep that for ourselves,” he said smugly. The Legionary who had made the suggestion looked disappointed and he scooted further away from Joan. Anger flared within her.

        “I thought you were supposed to be above all of that,” she said scathingly. The Decanus looked back down at her, his feathered headdress ruffling in the breeze as the cart continued its journey.

        “Caesar is merciful. In moments of dire need, we are permitted the use of certain chems and stims,” he replied. An idea seized Joan.

        “But this is an emergency,” she began. “I need my dose of Med-X. Not just for my leg; I’m an addict. If I don’t take some soon, I could die.” She didn’t need to feign the anxiety in her voice. The Legionaries looked at each other, bristling and hedgy for the first time.

        “Is that true?” the Decanus asked, to no one in particular. Joan held her breath, banking on the Legion’s unfamiliarity with chems to work for her benefit.

        “I think so…” one of the Legionaries that had been silent up until now spoke up. “You can die from alcohol withdrawal, I know that much.”

        “Vu— _Caesar_ obviously wants me for a reason,” Joan said. “I don’t think your master would be very pleased with you if I died on your watch.” She tried not to think too hard about the fact that he undeniably did want her alive at this point. She swallowed, cold sweat breaking out on her forehead. The Decanus didn’t look pleased but he finally withdrew her case of Med-X. She withheld the happy sigh that wanted to escape her.

        She stiffened as he took her arm, surprisingly carefully, his hands warm on her. He rolled her sleeve up past her elbow and she looked away, uncomfortable with his closeness. She heard him pop open the case again. He prodded and squeezed her arm and she winced as he inserted the needle; he was inexperienced. She bit her lip and pressed her eyes shut. In a moment it was done, and he was withdrawing from her again. She glanced back at him; the needle was empty now. She sighed in relief.

        “That’s all you’re getting until Caesar has his say with you,” the Decanus said sternly. Joan continued to try very hard not to think about that, her vision already growing dark again.

        “That’s fine,” she replied lightly, letting her eyes drift shut. The cart continued its fast paced journey through the cold blue desert, well past the Arizona border now.

        I just have to last until Yes Man finds me, Joan thought as she passed out again.

***

        Joan jolted as the cart drew to a stop, the brahmin bleating loudly. She opened her eyes wide, looking around alert.

        “We’re here,” the Decanus said, hefting himself to his feet and jumping out of the side of the cart. She heard him land in the sand with a muffled thud. Joan swallowed hard, panic rising within her. The other Legionaries also exited, except for one. The one that had been nervous around her. She blinked up at him, dazed in the harsh morning sun. He knelt down beside her and looped his hands gently under her shoulders and knees, lifting her with care before standing and walking to the edge of the cart, gingerly stepping down onto the packed sand. The Decanus made a disgusted noise.

        “Don’t treat her like a princess, Consus, here.”

        Joan winced as the Decanus yanked her from him, handling her like a sack of grain. She exhaled sharply as he hefted her over his shoulder, his football pads digging into her stomach. She writhed before crying out as he delivered a sharp slap to her ass; she craned her head around, furious and red in the face.

        “Don’t even bother,” the Decanus said, striding forward. Joan looked around. They were in the courtyard of what looked like an enormous compound. Adobe walls surrounded a squat but broad building. It was prewar, but she couldn’t tell what its purpose would have been. Something military, she might have guessed. The sun was high in the sky above them, hot on Joan’s hair. A further glance around netted her a surprise; she spied a wagon laden with bottles of water and clothing. It was her own cart. She sharply inhaled as she saw blood stains on the seat of the wagon before quickly turning her eyes away, screwing them shut. You’ll pay for this, she swore internally. You’ll all fucking pay, you can’t even imagine the hell that’s coming for you. She opened her eyes again, fortified by the fury that coursed through her. All she had to do was wait it out. Easy peasy, she thought grimly.

        The Decanus carried her through the double doors of the compound and she looked around again. It was spartan inside. The floor was comprised of worn and compacted dirt, the only decorations gracing the walls tattered blood red banners. She closed her eyes. She was in the heart of the bull. Flagstaff. She wondered if Vulpes Inculta was sadistic enough to own a brazen bull, and whether her fate would eventually lie inside of it, cooking to death. At the thought of fire, Joshua Graham flashed across her mind—it certainly wouldn’t be the first time the Legion had resorted to such methods. She pinched her lips together and unsuccessfully tried not to think of him.

        Joshua couldn’t fend off the Legion when they decided he needed to be punished; she didn’t know what kind of hope she had if even he wasn’t strong enough to fight back against them. She tried to hold onto her rage but felt it rapidly slipping from her grasp as the bleak reality of her situation settled over her.

        In a moment Joan was deposited roughly on the floor; she collided hard on her already bruised hip and hissed in pain.

        “It really is you.”

        Joan stiffened, her stomach weightless. She clenched her hands into fists, staring hard at faint cracks in the dirt below her.

        “Look at me.”

        She lifted her eyes.

        Before her, seated at a throne adorned with spears and red sashes was Vulpes Inculta. He looked down on her, unconcealed victory on his face. He was wearing robes and furs, similar to what the original Caesar had worn. His bare legs were spread wide as he slouched back comfortably. She looked away again, coldness shooting through her entire body.

        “The fabled Courier. At last,” he said. She could hear the smile in his voice, twisted and degenerate. “Almost anyway. I nearly didn’t recognize you without your signature get-up.”

        Joan stared at the ground again, trying not to breathe too heavily. It was easier when she had the rage inside to comfort and guide her.

        “Have her changed. I want to look at the _proud leader of Vegas,_ as she calls herself,” Vulpes Inculta said authoritatively. Joan jerked her head up. Two Legionaries had already surrounded her, hefting her up by her upper arms; her heels dragged the ground as they hauled her into an adjacent room, clapping the door shut behind them. They stood stiffly by her side after dropping her to the floor. The room was empty, barring a small battered table with a candle standing on it. One of the Legionaries quickly extinguished it, casting the room into hazy and gloomy darkness, the only light coming in from a small window near the ceiling.

        A few minutes later a new Legionary entered the small room—in his hands was her suit, folded as neatly as she had left it in her cart. For the first time in her life she was hesitant to look at it. Her mind reeled with the memories of every time someone had called her strange or impractical for wearing it. It was her status, her symbol. It had meant everything to her since the night she had first donned it—mere hours after murdering Robert House and installing Yes Man on the Lucky 38’s mainframe, establishing her place in the Mojave. _If I’m going to lead New Vegas, I might as well look the part_ , she had thought with glowing pride. She gritted her teeth and sat still.

        “I’m going to untie you. Don’t do anything stupid,” one of the Legionaries said to her. He kneeled in front of her, a wicked looked combat knife in his hand. He cut through the ropes at her wrists with ease. She contemplated fighting but decided against it; survival was key. She didn’t want to incite them into killing her, accidentally or otherwise. The binds around her ankles were cut as well and she stretched out, her limbs aching. She winced as her calf touched the ground; the blood around the wound was crusted and black now. She looked away from it before weakly standing and grunting at the pain stabbing through her legs. The Legionary passed her suit to her before stepping back. She looked at them; they stood propped against the wall with their arms crossed, watching her.

        “Do you mind?” she asked acerbically. They stared at her.

        “Privacy is a privilege you’re not entitled to anymore, Courier,” one of them said to her before smiling. Joan narrowed her eyes at him.

        “Fine,” she spat back, shrugging out of her coat and casting it to the ground. Predictably, they had taken her cherished pistol from her at some point, likely while she had been passed out in the cart during the journey. She could feel their eyes on her as she disrobed down to her grey undergarments. She wanted to tell them not to strain their eyes too hard, lest they go blind. She took her white button up and slipped into it; quickly she fell into the routine of dressing. Within minutes her shirt was buttoned severely to her neck and tucked neatly into her skirt, her red tie yanked tight. She buttoned her suit jacket. Her bible pressed against her breast and she closed her eyes tightly, stroking her scarred forefinger with her thumb.

        “Here.” One of the Legionaries stepped forward, his hand extended to her. She glanced at it; he held her desperado hat out to her. She took it and perched it on top of her head as she had always done, patting it down securely. It felt heavy on her.

        “It really is her,” one the Legionaries goggled, staring in naked awe at her, his eyes scanning from her prescription sunglasses down to her dress shoes. Joan glared at him. Already his fellow Legionary had seized her arm and was shoving open the door that led back to the main chamber. He dragged her back out in front of Vulpes Inculta, bearing down on her shoulder until she dropped to her knees in the dirt. She grinded her teeth with pain as her calf struck the ground.

        “ _The_ Courier,” Vulpes Inculta said again. Joan jerked her head up to look at him; his expression was unabashedly hungry and rapt. She stared determinedly into his cold blue eyes.

        “It’s good to see you again after all these years,” he began in his monotonous voice. “You’ve been busy. Building up the New Vegas strip, working with the Followers of the Apocalypse.” He paused, faintly smiling down at her. “You even undid all my hard work back at Nipton. It’s very nice looking today. A much better place than it was then, I’ll give you credit for that.”

        Hatred for him burned within her.

        “But you’ve been out of town for a while. At first I thought you had left, had abandoned your precious oasis in the desert. But I just couldn’t figure out _why_ ,” Vulpes Inculta trailed off. “You had it all—caps, power, your own fortified city to look down on all the other peons in. Why would you just leave everything behind?” He sat forward, staring at her keenly.

        “Care to enlighten me?”

        “I went on a fucking fieldtrip,” Joan snapped at him, glaring at him with all the force she could muster. Vulpes Inculta leaned back, unamused.

        “Unyielding as ever, I see. That’s fine,” he said before a slow smile spread across his face. Fear bloomed in her stomach, sickly and yellow. “We have plenty of time to get to know each other. But first…” he paused, beckoning his gloved hand at the room around them. A number of Legionaries stepped closer to her.

        “I think I’d like you to get to know my men better.”

        The fear exploded into terror and she stiffened, a horrible shiver running down her arms, into her icy fingers. She felt as brittle as glass, like she might shatter if anyone so much as looked at her. Her breath was rapid and shallow and she fought to contain herself.

        “Whatever sick pleasure you’re looking for,” she bit out raggedly, her heart racing. “You’re not going to get it from me, you filthy fuck.”

        “Would you rather it was me?” Vulpes Inculta asked pointedly, looking down at her. She gasped and cringed back from him, squeezing her eyes shut. He stretched out languidly in his throne.

        “As if I would. You’re entirely beneath me—you’re as flat and shapeless as a young boy,” he said dismissively. Joan flicked her eyes back up at him. In a twisted way she was grateful that he had insulted her—it was just enough that the fire reignited within her, flickering dimly in the darkness. I’m better than you in every conceivable way you twisted freak, she thought contemptuously.

        “Do what you will with her,” Vulpes Inculta said, fluttering his hand out at the room. “Just don’t destroy her suit. She loves the foolish thing so much, she should be debased in it.”

        Hands were on her instantly. Joan gasped, thrusting out her elbows and legs as she had done the prior evening before abruptly stilling.

        No, she thought determinedly, clenching her eyes shut. She wasn’t going to give Vulpes Inculta the satisfaction of seeing her struggle, of seeing her break.

        The hands were all over her, pawing at her chest, running up her thighs, tearing her skirt as they shoved it up. She winced as they passed over her bullet wound, gritting her teeth hard against the pain. The hands touched her throat and face, dirty fingers probing into her mouth. They commented on her physical features and it was as if she were listening to a radio that was almost out of hearing range; she could hear the mocking and derisive tone in their voices, but not the words they said. She shuddered as the hands caressed between her thighs. Her skirt was riding around her hips now, and she felt them tear away the thin grey shorts she wore beneath it. The hands touched her again, the pads of their fingers working against her bare flesh. She felt a nauseatingly traitorous pleasure emanate from her groin and she clenched her fists against it.

        “Look at how easily and readily she submits, my Lord,” she distantly heard one of them call out, his fingers thrust into her now. She winced at the burning it caused, her heart beating faster.

        “All women are whores,” Vulpes Inculta replied lightly. The fire within licked at her insides, growing stronger as the first of the men seized her ankles, jerking her legs uncomfortably far apart. He was seated between her thighs now. Joan twisted her head, pressing her cheek into the dirt, her thin chest rising and falling sharply. He pushed himself into her and she couldn’t help but gasp with pain, every inch of him like a hot poker inside of her. Her fingertips dragged against the earthen floor, digging in until they ached. She cracked her eyes open before instantly slamming them shut again, the sight too much to bear; the Decanus that had ridden in with her was thrusting into her, his own skirts bunched up around his thighs as his hands dug into her hips. Other men surrounded him, fondling her chest and abdomen, their hands pinching at the thin flesh of her throat. A hand grabbed her jaw, squeezing hard.

        She mashed her lips together, pinching her entire face against him. The hand delivered a sharp slap to her cheek, hard enough that she could feel the strike reverberate in her eyeballs. Her mouth popped open as she couldn’t help by cry out in pain. Immediately something much larger than fingers was thrust inside and she gagged, water squeezing out from the corners of her eyes. It rammed in and out of her mouth a few times and she gasped for air every time it briefly exited her. The stench and taste were terrible: sweaty, salty and rancid. Her stomach soured and she felt on the verge of vomiting when she was struck again.

        “Mind your teeth, woman,” a voice ordered above her. She felt dizzy and complied, letting her jaw hang open wider as he thrust into her again, his large hands grasping either side of her face as he groaned with pleasure.

        Survive.

        She lay slack as they continued, doing her best to ignore the terrible squelching wet sounds from below her waist and the thin sucking noises erupting from around her tongue and lips. After a moment or an eternity—she couldn’t tell which—her eyes fluttered open again. She saw Vulpes Inculta staring down at her, his chin propped in his fist. He looked bored and unhappy. Her eyes met his for a moment and his expression darkened almost imperceptibly. She closed her eyes again.

        They took her one after another in succession, hauling her into different positions and exchanging places every so often. They jerked hard against her hips, flooding her with a disgusting internal warmth, some of them filling her mouth with the bitter taste. Silently she endured.

        After a time they finally grew slow and sluggish, pulling away from her and groaning with fatigue.

        “Are you satisfied, my Lord?” one of them called, pulling himself out of Joan, sickly wet and raw. He sounded tired. She was breathing raggedly, thanking God for the clean air she took into her lungs, her mouth finally unobstructed. Her lips were swollen and tingly, cracked with dryness. Tacky saliva mingled with semen at the corners of her mouth, running down her cheek. She could feel drying blood on the inside of her thigh and she winced, the pain in her calf slowly returning to focus. Her head rang and everything sounded staticky.

        “It’s adequate,” Vulpes Inculta said. She didn’t have to look at him to see the dull edge to his expression. The Legionary stilled.

        “I—I can go again, my Lord, if you give me just a few minutes—”

        “No. That’s enough for now. Put her in her cell.”

        The Legionaries withdrew away from her, cleaning themselves up for a moment before one of them bent down and lifted her. She hung lifelessly in his arms, hurting all over as he slung her over his shoulder. She looked up at Vulpes Inculta as he sat motionless on his throne, staring into his cold eyes as she was carried away.

        The Legionary carried her into a room, similar to the one she had been herded into when she was forced to change clothes. A narrow window with bars over it was aligned close to the ceiling. There was no furniture inside, only a radio tacked high up on the wall, caged with wire, much like the ones she had seen in the Sierra Madre. She was dropped unceremoniously onto the floor and she winced, scrambling away from the Legionary into the furthest corner of the room. He turned and closed the heavy door behind him and she heard the sharp thud of a bolt slamming home on the other side. The door had a small viewing window in it and it slid open after a minute. It was the Decanus.

        “You’re to be held here until Caesar decides what to do with you next, profligate,” he said stiffly before relaxing. She sensed that he was smiling under the fabric that obscured the lower half of his face.

        “I must admit—you weren’t too bad. Almost a shame my Lord didn’t want to savor you for himself. But I’m sure he’ll find something much more creative for you.” He slammed the window shut, leaving Joan to stare at the door before pulling her knees up to her chest.

        Agony seared in her bullet wound and between her legs; sitting was too painful. She slid her legs back out and rolled onto her unbruised hip, curling into a ball. She crossed her hands protectively over her chest, hunching inward and she felt her bible there, still tucked neatly against her heart.

        She stared hard at the floorboard, furiously blinking back tears.


	5. The Unforgiven

Chapter 5: The Unforgiven

_What I've felt, what I've known, never shined through in what I've shown_

        In her mind’s eye, Joan was back in Ulysses’s missile silo in the Divide. She was repeatedly mashing the bold red button labeled Flagstaff, punching it harder and harder until the plastic cracked. Even then she continued stabbing at it, digging into the wiring in the console. She could practically feel the ground shaking and giving way beneath her as the missiles came to life, thrusting high into the air. She would salute them, just like in those old prewar propaganda posters. They would leave beautiful bold trails in the sky and she would jump into the air, whooping and shouting with joy and pumping her fists; perhaps she would even leap at Ulysses and pull him into a stiffly awkward hug. ED-E jauntily floated beside her, happily beeping and whirring, in one safe piece.

        She opened her eyes. They were stiff and puffy, though mercifully dry. She stared at the dusty floorboard as she dragged the back of her hand against her mouth, spitting the sour taste out; flakes of dried fluids drifted onto the floor and she licked her cracked lips.

        She pulled her Pipboy up to her face. There was a radio signal nearby, and a touch of warmth dulled the frozen edge to her fingertips. She craned her head carefully over her shoulder, looking first at the heavy metal door and then at the radio on the wall. It did look an awful lot like the radios in the Sierra Madre, she thought; which likely meant that it didn’t just transmit waves in one direction and that it was likely listening in on her as well. She turned her head back to her Pipboy. The last coordinates she had given Yes Man was when she was still in New Mexico. Unbound from need of sleep, food or hydration, it seemed unconscionable that her Securitrons hadn’t yet arrived. She squeezed her eyes shut, cursing quietly. They were mostly likely performing a thorough sweep of the desert. She twisted her head again and looked at the radio.

        She cursed Robert House for the fact that his Pipboys had no input for typing set into them—the hardware relied entirely on radio waves and scanning items to register them. He had been so consumed with being superfluously technologically superior that he had sacrificed function for form. The only way she would be able to reach Yes Man and update him on her new location was to record a new message and send it. She drummed her fingers against the side of her Pipboy, ignoring the pain between her legs and in her calf.

        She had to know if the radio was listening in on her. It served the dual purpose of distracting her mind from the nightmare she had just endured; she had to stay focused, to let bitter anger drive her forward. She couldn’t afford to give in and collapse in tears now because she thought she might never stop if she did. She wasn’t broken yet.

        She cleared her throat loudly. The radio remained silent. She cast her eyes around the empty room. No furniture, candles, books, nothing. Not even a bucket to relieve herself in, if it came to it. She bit her lip. The only thing she had on her was her bible, and deep within one of her pockets, the Platinum Chip. She let out a nearly silent chuckle as she pulled it out and looked down at it. To this day it was still the most important thing that she carried with her, even after all these years. Perhaps it was lucky. She sniffed loudly, trying not to let emotion overwhelm her. She had survived incredible odds before. She could do it again.

        She tucked the Platinum Chip back into her pocket and instead withdrew her bible. It was more battered and worn since the day Joshua had given it to her; she had taken his words to heart—practically literally—and carried it with her always. It was second in importance only to the Platinum Chip. She rolled over onto her bruised hip and looked up at the radio.

        God helps those who help themselves.

        She drew back her arm and lobbed the bible as hard as she could up at the radio. It struck the wire cage with a loud reverberating smack before flapping to the ground, the pages bending against the dirt. She quickly crawled across the floor to retrieve it.

        Joan shoved the wrinkled book back inside her suit jacket—a moment later the viewing window slid open with a sharp tap and Joan looked up at it. A Legionary she had never seen before was staring down at her, his eyes wary.

        “What are you doing in there?”

        “Nothing.” She winced at the croak in her voice and coughed again, massaging her throat. He narrowed his eyes at her.

        “You threw something at the radio. I’m coming in there,” he said, unlocking the door. Joan stiffened. In the moment he spent undoing the bolt and pushing the door open she quickly reached down and unlatched the band that crossed her ankle, keeping her neat dress shoe in place. She kicked it off just as the Legionary opened the door. He looked down at her and she flinched away from him reflexively, her stomach curling with fear. He looked around the room, assessing that there was not in fact anything in there with her before his eyes finally landed on her shoe. He crossed his arms.

        “Don’t make more trouble for yourself, Courier,” he said sternly. “Put that back on.”

        Joan complied, biting back a groan of pain at her calf as she drew her leg up, slipping her foot back into her shoe and clasping the tiny buckle again. She stared at the floor. It twisted her stomach to look at a Legionary now, much more so than she would have anticipated. As she worked on her shoe he strode over to the radio, scrutinizing it closely.

        “Do you read me?” he asked. The radio sparked to life.

        “Affirmative. What did she do?”

        “She threw her shoe at the radio.”

        “…Of course she did. Well it works just fine.”

        The Legionary turned and looked at her menacingly and she twisted away from him, trying to block as much of herself from him as she could. She let out a shuddery sigh of relief when he spun around and exited the room, locking the door behind him. She hated the stab of fear in her gut, feeling as though she were betraying herself somehow.

        Still, she had accomplished what she set out to do and that alone was enough to strengthen her; even a tiny victory felt like a huge success. She knew for a fact that the radio was listening in on her now, though it meant that she would have to wait for an opportune moment to send a new message. She crept back to the corner she had made her own, laying on her good hip again. She drew her Pipboy back up to her face and looked at the map of her current location. It was indeed Flagstaff, as she had known. She stared hard at the coordinates, whispering them under her breath over and over, trying to burn them into her memory. She decided she would wait until the dead of night to try to send a new message, but she wouldn’t hesitate if a better opportunity presented itself.

        There was nothing to do now but wait, wait and try to suppress the dread and fear of the door opening again. She looked at it. It was solid and metal, the viewing window shut for now. Pain twinged from between her thighs and she gingerly slid her fingers up her skirt. She hissed as she touched herself; she was sore and tender, although miraculously not as badly injured as she thought she would be. She drew her hand back and inspected it for any traces of blood. It was dry. She ran her fingertips up her thighs again.

        A single painful bite mark was nestled into the soft flesh near her groin; the blood that crusted her thigh had bled out from the punctured skin and she abruptly recalled how it got there. The fucking Decanus. She closed her eyes, envisioning what she would do to him when she was free.

***

        Joan passed in and out of tense sleep for the remainder of the afternoon. She jolted awake every time she heard heavy booted footsteps outside of her door, sharply twisting her neck to see if the viewing window was open, if the door was being unlocked. Each time she settled back into her wiry sleep. Her dreams were scattered. Visions of the past intermingled with daydreams of the future. She dreamt of Cass, the night they had packed their bags and loaded her wagon, preparing to head east. In another dream she was in the grand Sierra Madre, watching the hologram of Dean Domino sing, her lips parted with awe. Eventually she saw the Decanus, hanging lifelessly from one of the spokes of the Lucky 38, the feathers of his helmet waving in the breeze, his feet swinging.

        Blearily she opened her eyes. It was dark in the room. She rolled over, peering through the small window. If she pressed her cheek to the floor she could see the moon, barely a sliver in the night sky now. She glanced at her wrist—it was nearing midnight. Immediately she felt a spike of excitement. She would wait a couple more hours before daring to record her message and send it.

        She sat up and patted herself over. She was bruised and sore, but otherwise alright. Her calf continued to burn, but there was nothing to be done for it for the moment. She was faintly sore between her legs, though most of the tenderness came from her hips now, due to the odd angles her legs had been jutted out at during the morning.

        She let a faint smile cross her face. Assuming her Securitrons were in New Mexico, it was very likely that they would arrive by morning, if she could just manage to record and send a new message. There was a risk, a very bad risk that a Legionary was stationed at the radio during the night, but it was one she would just have to take. She wasn’t going to wait around to see what else they would throw at her. She was so close. All she had to do was get home. She would take some time to heal her leg, work on setting up her Synth manufacturing, and then she would show the Legion the grave mistake they had made in making an enemy of her. They should have faded away and died an ignominious death when the real Caesar had died. She would make them wish that had happened.

        The deadbolt on the door slid open quietly and Joan jumped, the sound as loud as a gunshot in her ears. She jerked her head up, staring at the viewing window. It remained shut as the door swung silently open.

        Vulpes Inculta stepped into the room.

        She kicked her legs, scrambling back against the wall into the corner. The warmth was leeched out of her fingers and hands, replaced with a numb coldness. He turned and shut the door behind him with care and she heard the rattle of keys as he locked it behind him. The ice bolted into her stomach and she mashed herself into the wall as hard as she could, pulling her knees up protectively to her chest and glowering at him with fear.

        He turned to face her, tucking the keys into the fur sash around his shoulders.

        “You surprised me earlier, Joan,” he said, looking down at her. “A profligate such as yourself, showing a level of fortitude that I would not usually associate with your kind. Especially a woman.” He took a step toward her and she jerked, balling her hands into fists as he continued speaking.

        “You might have made a valuable addition to the Legion, once upon a time. Just like poor Drusa. She died this afternoon, you know.” He narrowed his eyes at Joan and she glared back into them.

        “Like you weren’t fucking using her,” she spat. Vulpes Inculta looked mildly offended before shrugging.

        “She was happy to be used. It was a fair exchange, I think. She performed admirably out in the field. No one ever expects a woman to be loyal to the Legion. In exchange she was treated well. Better than you were this afternoon,” he said, a small sly smile on his lips. The fire within Joan roared to life.

        “Like I would have ever joined the Legion. Drusa was a fucking idiot. I’m no one’s goddamn tool,” she declared, lifting her chin proudly.

        “What the fuck do you even want right now anyway?” she continued boldly. He licked his lips and looked much more pleasant than he had earlier in the day. She had long ago learned to associate that smile with nothing but bad news and pulled her knees closer to her. He walked past her and kneeled, sitting on the floor against the wall opposite her. He settled, making himself comfortable.

        “You’re right, let’s get on with this,” he said pleasantly and spread his thighs out.

        “I want you to fuck me.”

        Her jaw dropped open and she stared at him, aghast.

        “ _What_?” she said incredulously. “Are you insane? Why the fuck would I do that?” She hunched protectively over her knees, wrapping her arms around them. “Fuck you, no. That’s not happening.”

        “I thought you might say something like that,” Vulpes Inculta said and reached into his robes. Joan stared in horror as he withdrew a pistol; she gasped audibly as she recognized it.

        It was her pistol.

        Vulpes Inculta’s fingers wrapped around the snakeskin grip, his forefinger settling over the trigger as he pointed it directly at her.

        “This is a very interesting gun, isn’t it?” he said, his expression growing dark. Joan crammed her hands under her knees to prevent him from seeing how badly they were shaking.

        “Where did you get this gun?” he asked. Joan swallowed hard.

        “I bought it. Just like I would any other gun,” she said stiffly.

        “I very much doubt that,” Vulpes Inculta replied acidly. “I’ve only ever seen a few of these out in the wild. Especially not one with a grip like this,” he continued, temporarily pulling the barrel away and inspecting the worn snakeskin.

        “I know of only one man who uses a gun that looks almost identical to this one. He had it even back when he was Caesar’s first Legate.”

        Nausea swept over Joan and her shoulders hitched, terribly close to dry heaving. It stabbed at her that they had a mutual connection to him—within her mind he was distantly divorced from the Legion, from who he had been in the past. As far as she was concerned the Malpais Legate had been someone else entirely.

        “You’ve met with Joshua Graham. I know it,” he said bluntly. “Not long before the second battle for Hoover Dam, you left on a caravan trip with some traders, heading north. I thought for sure then that we had scared you off,” he continued bitterly.

        “Word eventually reached us of the crushing defeat of the White Legs tribe. Joshua Graham—and one other notable person—the source of it. A courier. Who else could it have possibly been,” he said, staring into her eyes and training the pistol on her again.

        “You all but confirmed it when you left the Mojave again a few weeks after the battle. I couldn’t track you then, not into his valley. I was too busy simply trying to survive and gather up what was left of the men. The Legion was in chaos after what you did to Caesar.”

        Joan saw anger flicker to life in his eyes for the first time and flinched back from him. He was nasty when he was smiling and friendly; she felt as though she was standing on the daggers edge of a cliff looking into his eyes now, rage glittering deeply within them.

        “I could forgive it if you had settled for killing him, you know,” he spoke slowly and distinctly. “War is cruel in nature, and there’s no shame in falling to a foe that has bested you. It’s as honorable a way to pass into the next life as any of us could ask for.” He paused, drawing in breath.

        “But to defile his corpse? That is inexcusable.”

        Joan steeled herself, her own eyes hardening.

        “I was far away from the Fort that night, obviously,” he said. “When I returned a few days later and saw what you had done… if only I had been there…” he trailed off before blinking. For a flash she saw something that resembled pain and humanity in his eyes and it fed the hungry fire within her.

        “It was pretty satisfying, taking his decapitated head and shoving it on a pike,” Joan said maliciously, forgetting that she was trying not to incite him. Vulpes Inculta had dredged the memory up in her mind, fresh and clear as the night it had happened.

        The battle for Hoover Dam had been fast approaching. Yes Man had estimated that Legate Lanius was about a week away from the Mojave, carving a slow march through Colorado and Arizona. Only a few days previous Veronica had left, and not just a week prior to that Joan had returned from the Divide. With both ED-E and Veronica gone from her life she needed something to fill the void. All her problems could be pinned on the Legion. If she had only nuked Flagstaff then, she could have avoided so much. She was already bitterly regretting her decision.

        She had to make it right.

        She spent a couple days preparing. She gathered all the friends that she could depend on and that were available: Cass, Lily, Raul, and perhaps most importantly, Boone. He had enthusiastically agreed with her plan to storm Fortification Hill. To his mind it was success no matter what happened—they would either destroy Caesar or be killed in the attempt. At the last moment Yes Man had chimed in and offered to transfer himself into a Securitron and join them, as well as pulling a few Securitrons from their duties on the Strip to bolster their number. She was grateful and they left Vegas that night, forming their own march across the Mojave, malignant hatred fueling both her and Boone.

        Cottonwood Cove had fallen fairly quickly. She could still remember the uneasy boat ride up the river. She and Boone were sprawled out on the floor of the raft, each watching their side of the jagged cliffs that lined the river and sniping off Legionaries as they saw them, their heads exploding into fine red mist as Lily paddled them upstream to their destination. Finally they reached Fortification Hill.

        It had been a massacre. Joan couldn’t remember many of the fine details. Everything was a blurred rush of blood, gunfire and screaming. She remembered that she had favored her combat knife that night; hatred for them stoked the fire within her. She had wanted them to taste the fear that she felt every time a squad of assassins showed up unexpectedly during her travels. She wanted to pay them back tenfold for everything they had ever done: to herself, to Boone, to Joshua Graham, to everyone else that had suffered at their hands. She wanted them to die in pain and fear.

        Finally they breached Caesar’s tent itself. Lucius and the Praetorians put up a good fight but had been no match for Lily, swinging her great vertibird blade and cutting them down.

        All that remained was Caesar himself. He was weak and frail. She found it hard to believe that he and Joshua were of the same age, or at least close to it. Joshua seemed to all but burst with youthful vigor and righteousness. Caesar had lunged at them with his Displacer Glove but he was slow and tired and easy to subdue, coerced to his knees with barely any effort at all. Joan had looked down on him with pleasure before standing back and gesturing to Boone.

_He’s all yours._

        She had been pleased; despite everything she still had no taste for torture and was happy when Boone had withdrawn a pistol from his trousers and shot Caesar with it neatly in the forehead. He hadn’t suffered, though she wouldn’t have faulted Boone if he had wanted him to.

        Cass and Raul had whooped, slinging back the flask of hard liquor that Cass kept tucked in her jacket. The group had set off, heading back to New Vegas when Joan halted. An idea had struck her. It turned her stomach to even think of it, but it seemed like a necessary evil at the time. She thought back to Zion, to the path leading up to the Dead Horse’s camp.

        She needed to send a message. One that Lanius and the rest of the Legion would understand with perfect, cutting clarity.

        Accompanied by Lily and Boone—the only two who had agreed to stay—Joan had set about disrobing every corpse that they had cut down. In the center of the camp was a makeshift arena, and there they lit an enormous bonfire, casting their football pads, helmets, banners, and non combustible weapons into. The bodies were left naked and disgraced. When Legate Lanius arrived, she wanted him to see just how mortal they all were. None would stand against her and live to talk about it.

        Cass and Raul had found the work to be too grisly. Joan didn’t hold it against them; she could think of a thousand ways she’d rather spend a Saturday night. She had told them to head home with Yes Man and the Securitrons, and that she would be back soon.

        Finally she and Boone had stood back and watched as Lily drove spears deep into the ground in front of the entrance to Caesar’s tent, their cruel points angled to the heavens. She and Boone took it upon themselves to sever both Caesar’s and Lucius’s heads. It was grim work, but Boone begrudgingly agreed with her that it would be effective. Finally they drove the heads down onto the spikes. Joan had turned her face away, the nasty wet sound of Caesar’s head in her hands making her stomach turn as the spear penetrated the meat of his skull. It was done.

        Vulpes Inculta stared at her, his eyes wide before settling back to normal. He still had her gun aimed at her forehead.

        “I’m sure it was satisfying, Joan,” he replied after a moment, the small smile returning to his face. Joan jerked, surfacing back into the present. She pressed against the wall again.

        “But I think I’ll be far more satisfied after tonight,” he said. “Now fuck me.”


	6. Control

Chapter Six: Control

_I'm bigger than my body, I'm colder than this home, I'm meaner than my demons, I’m bigger than these bones_

        He jingled the gun at her and she narrowed her eyes at him again, coldness surging through her.

        “I thought you said I was beneath you,” she said quickly, eyeing the gun, trying to quash the fear rising in her. She still hurt between her thighs. He laughed and it was light, almost boyishly innocent.

        “What can be said—you changed my mind,” he said, the corners of his lips twitching upward. She paled. He sat forward, turning serious again.

        “You can fuck me or be shot in the head. _Again_ ,” he emphasized. “The choice is yours. And I can assure you that I’ll make sure the job is done right this time.”

        Joan recoiled at his threat, turning her body away from him.

        “ _No_.”

        “You were enough of a whore to put out for that fool, Benny,” he said, unruffled. “Surely your life is worth more to you than some Platinum Chip was.”

        Joan froze, staring at him with her eyes wide. Gooseflesh ran down her shoulders and arms. The only one who knew about that was Yes Man. Not even Cass or Arcade knew. Vulpes Inculta laughed at her again and it felt like a slap.

        “You don’t remember? I approached you on the Strip just after you finished with him. I gave you the Mark of Caesar.” He paused, pursing his lips with distaste. “Not that you were even remotely worthy of it.”

        Joan sat still, feeling like a block of ice had encapsulated her entire body. Vulpes Inculta continued, the distaste washing away with a restrained smile.

        “I suppose I was beneath your notice then. You pranced away into the Lucky 38 without a care in the world. You never noticed that I doubled back and entered the Tops casino.”

        He paused and his nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, closing his eyes.

        “I could smell your fornication in the air as soon as I entered Benny’s suite. That and the stench of his filthy blood. My eyes only confirmed what I already knew; you left him lying as naked and bloody as the day he was born. You didn’t even pick your knife out of his neck.”

        Joan hunched over hard, the points of her knees digging into her chest. Her calf cried in agony as it mashed against her thigh.

        “I assume you had that… _thing_ , in the next room do something about the body, since it wasn’t reported on,” he continued conversationally. Joan swallowed, blinking rapidly at him, not trusting herself to speak. She knew he had been watching her, especially after her ascent to power on the Strip, but she hadn’t known the raw extent of it. As if he was reading her mind he leaned forward again, the restrained smile taking on a hard edge.

        “Does that make you uncomfortable? Don’t worry—there are plenty of other times that I watched you too, that you were never aware of,” he said. Joan felt as though she might compact into a diamond with the pressure building in the room around her; the walls felt as though they were closing in, that if she looked up at the ceiling she would find it to be mere inches above her head. She inhaled stiltedly, feeling as though she couldn’t take in enough oxygen.

        “One particular moment that I recall was inside the terminal of Camp McCarran. I was disguised as a soldier, standing guard,” Vulpes Inculta began. “You were standing at the top of the stairs, staring at something. That tall doctor was with you. You were standing almost as stiffly as you’re sitting now.

        “You can imagine the flattery I felt when I saw what you were staring at, Joan. My very own poster, on the wall of the NCR dogs camp.” He paused and breathed in again.

        “I could smell the fear on you then, just as I can smell it now. I treasured that memory for a long time,” he continued, his eyes closed, smiling. “You barely flinched in the presence of my Lord, Caesar. Yet a mere piece of paper with my face on it was enough to still you, lock you into place.”

        He paused and his eyes fluttered open again, piercing into hers. Joan felt like she might scream, the gooseflesh on her arms prickling against the fabric of her shirt.

        “You were right to be afraid of me then. Just as you should be today. Now. Enough games. Kneel and submit to me or die a proud and pointless death.”

        His arm was locked straight out in front of him. Joan stared into the dark barrel of her gun before squeezing her eyes shut. She was cold. The night was chilly and cool, but she felt as if she were deep in the white piles of snow that she had only seen for the first time in Boston. She doubled over, her fingers aching.

        The Synths. She couldn’t lose sight of everything. She knew that once her Securitrons did arrive it would be to whisk her away as fast as possible. She couldn’t afford to get into an extended engagement with the Legion here and leave the Mojave unprotected. She had been on increasingly bad terms with the NCR since she had General Oliver executed, and the thought of them overrunning Vegas was always lingering in the deepest part of the back of her mind. Fortunately they had sustained losses so severe during the lead up to the second battle for Hoover Dam that they had been forced to withdraw and stay on their side of the California line. The uneasy truce had lasted for years, but she knew it was only a matter of time before they decided Hoover Dam and Vegas were worth taking another stab at. The NCR wasn’t going to let go of a juicy resource that easily.

        And all of it would be sacrificed if she wasn’t there to protect it. She opened her eyes again, feeling as though she were burning. She hated Vulpes Inculta. She had always hated him, hated and feared him, but the raw force of her hatred surprised even herself; if she could have killed him with willpower alone he would have crumbled to ash and dust in front of her eyes, leaving her beloved pistol to clatter to the ground. She stared at his hand, his disgusting and degenerate hand, wrapped around the snakeskin grip. She blinked and for an instant saw herself standing in the Angel Cave, Joshua’s warm hands wrapped around hers, the gun cradled between them. She blinked once again.

        It all had to be for something.

        “Fine,” she said, staring hard at Vulpes Inculta. He looked amused and settled back against the wall again.

        “And I was almost beginning to think you couldn’t be reasoned with,” he said, spreading his knees. He jerked the gun, indicating her to stand up. The joints in her knees and elbows cracked as she obliged him, pulling herself jerkily to her feet. The bullet wound in the calf seared and ached and she favored her leg, leaning slightly in the dark room.

        “Take off that ridiculous outfit,” he said, watching her. Joan hesitated.

        “We both know you’re not shy,” he continued. Joan pressed her eyes shut and unbuttoned her jacket and loosened her tie. In a moment she stood naked before him. He was right; she was not usually shy. She would bare everything she had for the sake of getting what she wanted, even going so far as to sleep with Benny. She bit the inside of her cheek, her lips downturned. She had known she wouldn’t stand a chance in a one on one fight with Benny, much less against the rest of the Chairmen. If she could only trick him into bed, she could even the odds as he slept afterward. It had been disgusting and he was a poor and inconsiderate lover, but her virginity had been a worthy sacrifice to attain the Platinum Chip.

        She stood with her arms by her sides. There was no point in modesty and Vulpes Inculta stared openly at her, his eyes lingering on her flat breasts, the tuft of hair between her legs, the gunshot wound on her shin. She closed her eyes; her stomach twisted to watch him appraise her, as though she were something less than human. He stared at her like one would consider the selection of produce a trader was selling, hunting for the largest and juiciest piece of fruit.

        “Mn. You’re not quite as bad as I imagined,” he said thoughtfully after a moment. “You’re skinny, but you have surprisingly nice hips. It’s a shame you never wore anything more flattering on them.”

        Joan cracked her eyes open at him.

        “I don’t dress for you or any other man,” she said quietly.

        “No, you wouldn’t, would you?” Vulpes Inculta replied. “You’ve always done everything for your own needs, your own purposes. Such is the way of the dissolute. You think only of yourself.”

        Joan’s eyes were angry slits in her face.

        “Now come here.”

        Joan slid her foot forward, fighting against herself. She wanted to launch herself at the door, even though she knew it was locked. Still, she willed herself to walk across the room and looked down at him as he tilted his head to look up at her. It would be incredibly easy to kick him in his stupid face from this angle. He was still pointing Joshua’s gun at her.

        “Undress me,” he said. Joan narrowed her eyes at him.

        “This is bad enough, get undressed by your damn self,” she spat. She was going to do this but she didn’t owe it to him to be happy about it. Vulpes Inculta chuckled at her.

        “I want you to show me a good time, Joan,” he said, thrusting his shoulders back. He jangled the gun at her again. “Now get to it.”

        She gritted her teeth and dropped to her knees, wincing at her calf. She yanked at the furs around his shoulders and took a small amount of pleasure when he stiffened as she dragged the fabric hard, cuffing his ears. He was glowering at her as she pulled the furred sash over his head and cast it aside.

        “ _Gently_ , if you don’t mind,” he said and pressed the tip of the gun against her head. It was cool to the touch on her temple and she swallowed.

        He bent forward and lifted his arms so she could draw his red robes off. She eyed the gun as she worked. Even if she could manage to wrestle it away from him—which she very much doubted she could—and even if she shot him in his coldly deadpan face with it, it wouldn’t solve her problem of being locked in the compound with no help. Legionaries would be on her the second she fired the gun. Indeed, she wouldn’t be surprised if there was a group of them outside the door listening in.

        He was finally as nude as she was, sprawled out comfortably against the wall. She turned her eyes primly away from him as she moved to stand back up, wanting to put distance between them again. He lightly touched her arm, just above her Pipboy.

        “I don’t think so,” he said softly and tugged her back to him. She sat heavily, drawing her knees close together. He slid his fingers away from her arm and propped himself up on the floor, his legs still spread wide. Joan’s stomach began to twist again and she broke out into cold sweat on her forehead and in the small of her back. She stared away from him.

        “Touch me.”

        She squeezed her eyes shut and her stomach flipped. Her hand lay in her lap and she ran her thumb across her scarred forefinger. She twitched as the gun caressed her temple again.

        Gingerly she reached out blindly for him. He provided no assistance to her, sitting as slack as she had been earlier. Her hand grazed him and she flinched, jerking her hand back as if she’d been burnt; she wasn’t even sure what she had just touched. She could feel him growing annoyed with her, which quickly manifested in him jerking the tip of the gun against her temple with a sharp tap.

        She opened her eyes and looked at him. He was staring at her and it was unusual to see him at eye level. She glanced down—he was already semi erect. Her stomach hurt.

        She reached out for him once more and gently grasped his cock before twisting her head away again. She stroked her fingers up and down the shaft slowly, her fingertips skating over the skin as lightly as she could manage. She closed her eyes.

        “A little firmer, please. Don’t worry, you won’t hurt me,” he said playfully. She swallowed and tensed her grip a little bit, flinching as she felt him twitch beneath her palm. She worked him up and down for a couple minutes, the skin elastic and giving. She wasn’t very experienced with this sort of manipulation. The only two people she had ever been intimate with were Benny and Hancock. Benny had been entirely one sided, which had made things easier for her; it wasn’t difficult to lay back and let him do what he wanted for the ten minutes he had lasted. She had only had sex with Hancock the one time, immediately following the speech he had given in Goodneighbor. She had liked him, but… he hadn’t been what she was looking for. That time had been a whirlwind of passion, lasting less than an hour. She couldn’t really remember most of it, only that it had felt good but that once it was over, so were her feelings for him, extinguished like a candle.

        She paused, her hand stilling. Something black and ugly welled inside of her and she realized that her thought hadn’t been quite true—she had been with more than two people now. She didn’t know how many anymore. The morning already felt as distant as a particularly bad nightmare to her. For a terrible moment she thought she would burst into tears; she abruptly felt like she had been robbed, like something had been taken from her, something intangible that she didn’t even realize she had possessed. It was gone forever now.

        “Don’t stop, that was feeling good,” Vulpes Inculta cut through her thoughts. She blinked and ground her teeth together, her temples throbbing. She resumed her movements.

        He was much larger beneath her hand now and she glanced down at him again. She didn’t have much to compare him to, but he looked large, larger than she was comfortable with. Bile shot up her throat as she saw his hips jerk, thrusting himself into her hand, clear fluid leaking from his tip.

        “Use your mouth,” he said, a touch of urgency in his voice. The nausea in her stomach compounded. He seemed to be in no mood for resistance though and smacked her in the head with the barrel of her gun. “Now.”

        Surging with disgust for him she bent double. She was forced to look at his cock directly and it loomed huge in her vision. She pressed her lips together in a hard line until they paled and turned white.

        “Curse it woman, I won’t ask a second time,” he said, and his hips jerked beneath her. The tip of his cock brushed her lips and she recoiled, her stomach icy. The gun barrel came down on her temple again and she jolted, her head beginning to hurt. He hadn’t struck her hard but the repeated blows were making her anxious and dizzy. She inhaled deeply and steeled herself before opening her mouth and taking him inside.

        She remembered the violent rebuke she had received during her afternoon with the Legionaries and opened her jaw uncomfortably wide, lowering her head and taking as much of him inside her mouth as she could. At least he was freshly washed; all she tasted was warm skin. She could feel his groan of pleasure vibrate inside her mouth. She pressed her lips around him and drew herself up and then down again, falling into a steady pumping rhythm with her head. Unsure of what to do with her hands, she laid them awkwardly on his hips, the bones sharp beneath her fingers.

        She flinched as she felt his broad fingertips lace into her hair. He was gentle, caressing through the dark strands and massaging her scalp tenderly. Her stomach twisted violently; she could withstand punching, slapping, even the morning with the Legionaries didn’t enrage and sicken her as much as this depraved parody of affection did. After a few minutes his fingertips dug into her scalp with a minute amount of force and he jerked her away from him. He popped out of her mouth audibly and she exhaled hard. He groaned again, sounding strained.

        “Good gods, woman,” he breathed. His voice was shuddery and deeper than usual. “You’re better at that than I thought you would be.” She could feel the muscles of his thighs tensing beneath her hands, leaving her feeling soiled and filthy. He breathed heavily for a moment, steadying himself before chucking her under the chin, forcing her to look up at his face. He was flushed, his pupils blown dark and wide.

        “Kiss me,” he ordered.

        Joan blanched; she disliked kissing even in the best of times, let alone doing something so intimate with someone she hated with every fiber of her being. Her stomach shriveled inside of her and she thought she would have rather gone back to sucking him again. He nudged her temple with Joshua’s gun and she frowned.

        “ _Please_ ,” she said, disgusted at how pathetic she sounded. “I… I really hate—”

        “I don’t care,” he cut her off. “Do it.”

        Hatred simmered within her. She sat up, moving closer to his face. He stared at her the entire time and it unnerved her; humiliated, she closed her eyes before slowly pressing in further. Her lips met his and she felt something inside her snap and break, as brittle as a twig. He worked his mouth against hers, his tongue probing deep inside, exploring her tongue before sucking on her bottom lip as he pulled away. The corners of her eyes pricked with misery.

        “It was fantastic to taste myself on you,” he said as he pulled back. “Though your technique could use some work.”

        Joan was burning red in the neck and face all the way up to her ears as she drew away from him. She hated him with such ferocity that it seemed to leech backward and she felt disgusted and miserable with herself too. She seemed to clench everywhere inside, trying to restrain the dam that threatened to burst at her eyes. She breathed heavily, desperately trying to think of Zion, to that faraway place that existed between memory and reality, to happier times gone by. She could endure.

        “Now fuck me,” Vulpes Inculta said, his voice thick. She stared at him, her eyes red with unwept tears. She didn’t hesitate any further. She needed to be done with this.

        Joan awkwardly climbed on top of him. She winced as his cock brushed against her; though uninjured, she was still sore from the morning. He offered her no help or assistance—she reached down between them and lightly wrapped her fingers around him, guiding him into her as she lowered herself down onto him, impaled like butterfly against a collector’s board. She hissed with pain and the overwhelming feeling of fullness and she grabbed his shoulders, digging into him hard with her fingernails, leaving tiny crescents in the flesh. He jumped beneath her, jerking hard up into her and made a shocked noise, which he quickly bit back.

        “That was good, I liked that,” he said, sounding surprised even to himself. Joan groaned with a mixture of pain and disgust. He laid his hands gently on the swell of her hips. He was careful with her, holding her just tightly enough to keep her steady as she slowly began lowering herself up and down on him. She bit her lip against the pain in her groin and tried to focus instead on the searing in her calf. Horrible keening noises began to emit from her as she continued to ride him; the position provided a small measure of friction against her and she felt a strange sensation of pain and pleasure in her navel. It was mostly pain.

        “Kiss my neck,” Vulpes Inculta instructed, turning his head and baring his throat to her. She swallowed hard before obliging, lowering her mouth to his throat and kissing him chastely. She could feel his jaw twitch.

        “You can do better than that,” he said, and she grimaced. She kissed him again, this time letting her tongue touch the flesh, sucking the skin and feeling his pulse beneath her lips. He moaned loudly in her ear and it turned her stomach as it electrically transmitted down her body, flooding her with wetness.

        “Now try giving me a bite. _Gently_ , mind you,” he emphasized. “Don’t get any ideas about reenacting your time with Benny.” The gun jogged at her temple, quivering in his grip. She clenched her jaw hard before opening her mouth again. She sucked at the spot just below the square of his jaw before opening her mouth wider and pressing her teeth against him. He was thrusting up into her now, meeting her hips excitedly. Abruptly she dug her teeth in, harder than she had meant to but she couldn’t control herself. She punctured the skin and tasted copper.

        He gasped and his back arched. He jerked his hips up into her so hard she almost bucked straight off of him; he clenched his hands around her hips and dug in painfully, just for a moment, to hold her steady. He continued thrusting, his hips twitching hard beneath her. He relaxed his grip, breathing heavily.

        “That was more than I asked for,” he said jerkily, and she could feel his body flushing hot beneath her. She felt sick.

        “I’m close to finishing,” he continued, sounding ragged. “Fuck me harder.”

        Joan grimaced and obeyed him. She hastened her pace, letting more of her weight strike his hips with each thrust and he bucked up into her with vigor. After a moment his fingertips began to dig into her hips again. She could feel it was unusual for him to completely hand over power to someone else; his hands flexed into her pale skin before trying and failing to relax again. He was breathing heavily before finally abandoning her hips altogether—he wrapped his arms around her, mashing her chest into his, the pistol striking her shoulder. She stiffly jerked in his embrace as he thrust up hard into her, finally taking control. She moved up and down in his arms and he was gasping into her throat as sweat slicked between them.

        Finally he cried out, choked and strangled sounding as he thrust up into her hard, almost as hard as he had when she bit him. He crushed her against him, his hands digging into her back hard enough that her bones ached and she whimpered in pain. She heaved, clenching down on him as he came inside her, jerking and twitching. Her hands balled into fists against his shoulders and she screwed her eyes shut hard enough to see a rainbow of spots bloom in the reddish darkness behind her eyelids.

        He was panting as he pulled away from her again, ruddy in the face as sweat beaded the line of his buzzed hair. Joan couldn’t stand to look at him.

        “Now kiss me again,” he gasped. She bit her lip hard, digging into the thin and dry flesh. He shoved her gun back into her temple harder than he had before and she winced. God haven’t you taken enough from me, she thought miserably as she drew close to him again, their lips meeting a second time. He kissed her deeply and bitter wetness sprang into the corners of her eyes this time, the muscles in her abdomen clenching. Her shoulders hitched and the thin tether of control she had slipped nearly away from her, a sob rising in her throat.

        He depressed the trigger on her gun with a loud click.

        She screamed and jumped and he wrapped his arm around her waist, crushing her to him again. The scream created a crack in the dam and she finally cried out, blinking rapidly with terror and jerking her head around. Her wild eyes finally settled on his and she saw cold and dark victory there. He clicked the trigger a few more times; the pistol was empty.

        “I thought you seemed a little too compliant,” he said, the guttural tension fading from his voice, leaving him as cool and silky sounding as he usually was. He lowered the gun and instead seized her left arm roughly, dragging her Pipboy up to his face. Joan gasped and fought back against him, trying to scramble out of his arms.

        “I’ve never seen one of these up close,” he said, restraining her with ease as he scrutinized the plastic casing. “I’m not terribly familiar with them. But…” he trailed off and looked back up at her horrified face. “I know you. Your propensity for technology, for your robotic sycophants. I’m going to have to take this from you.”

        She reared back again and he seized both her wrists immediately, digging into the thin bones. She struggled against him, fury and terror snapping hard inside her.

        “I can’t have you reaching out for help. I’ve been listening in on you the entire time you’ve been in this room, so I know you haven’t done anything _yet_.” He paused, looking at the screen of her Pipboy. The map of Arizona was still displayed on it.

        “It would seem I was just in time. Isn’t that fortuitous. For me, anyway.”

        He roughly shoved her away from him and she crashed backward onto the floor, crying out at the agony erupting anew in her leg. He raised the gun again and hauled himself to his knees.

        “Take off your Pipboy. And do it across the room. You might have that thing rigged to explode for all I know,” he said. She pulled herself up off her back, sitting with her knees spread wide.

        “No!” she snapped defiantly, staring at her gun in his hands. What a fucking idiot I am, she thought angrily. He had said it himself that her specific gun was quite difficult to find; why on earth would he have had ammunition for it?

        Vulpes Inculta frowned down at her.

        “This gun might not have any bullets in it, but I can assure you I’m just as comfortable beating you to death with it as I would have been shooting you,” he said shrewdly. To emphasize his point he tossed the gun in his hand and seized the barrel, hefting it at her menacingly. She quickly scrambled back from him until she met the wall on the opposite side of the room.

        She looked down at her Pipboy. It was not rigged to explode, regretfully. At this point she might have forsaken everything just to run forward and catch him in the blast with it if it had been, her dreams of the future be damned.

        She swallowed, staring at the screen.

_“It’s not that I don’t trust my friends, but…”_

_“Not as much as you trust me.”_

        She pressed her eyes shut. Yes Man always had a knack for thinking of the little details. She knew he was smart. When he was satisfied that she wasn’t in the desert in New Mexico, he would have to know there was only one other place she could possibly be. She trusted him—even to this day—more than any other person she knew on this earth.

        She unlatched her Pipboy and pulled it off her arm; Vulpes Inculta visibly relaxed. As her final act of defiance she hurled it at him. She was disappointed when he caught her Pipboy in the air with ease, glaring at her for her insolence.

        “Good,” he said. He stood and began dressing himself, tucking Joshua’s gun back into his robes. He turned to her after he was done, looking down at her on the floor.

        “You get dressed too. I do rather enjoy seeing you in that suit of yours.”

        She stared at him with blackness inside her, swearing to burn her beloved suit to ashes if—when—she escaped. She stood stiffly and redressed, buttoning herself up neatly and tightly as usual. He was satisfied and swept past her, unlocking the door and stepping quietly outside before shutting it again. She waited to hear the bolt slide into the latch on the other side of the door before fleeing to her corner of the room and sitting, dragging her knees up to her chest against the painful protests of her calf. She rocked hard, swinging forward and backward, screwing her eyes shut. She felt naked without her Pipboy.

        She could smell him on her. Taste him in her mouth. She froze as she felt something leak out from between her legs, leaving a wet spot on her skirt.

        She broke and finally wept, sobbing into her arms.


	7. Seven Devils

Chapter 7: Seven Devils

_I don't want your money, I don't want your crown—see I've come to burn your kingdom down_

        Joan opened her eyes, groggy. Sunlight was streaming through the narrow window, casting bright glowing lines across the dirt floor. She swept her hand across the ground, hunting for her glasses before finding them and shoving them onto her face.

        She raised her left arm nearly to her nose, and blinked at her bare sleeve.

        She pinched her eyes closed again and everything came back all at once. Her eyes seared and ached, swollen and puffy from the tears she had finally shed the night before. She swallowed against her dry throat and her stomach started to hurt again.

        The viewing window slid open with a neat click and she didn’t flinch. Tired, she flicked her eyes up at it. A Legionary was on the other side. As if it could have been anything else.

        “Caesar has summoned you. Get up.”

        Gooseflesh rose up on her arms and hips. She closed her eyes before immediately snapping them open again—as soon as she had closed them she saw him, his pale shoulders bunched as his arms wrapped around her, his breath hot on her throat. She opened her eyes wide, trying to fend off the terrible image. She sat up, her knees popping and creaking. The Legionary opened the door and stepped inside the room and she flinched away from him.

        “Get up,” he insisted, grabbing her bicep and hauling her to her feet. She wobbled before reaching out and grabbing his arm to steady herself. It was his turn to flinch and she felt a tiny vindictive bolt of pride in her stomach. He leaned down to pick her up and she swatted at him, feeling slightly reinvigorated.

        “I can walk myself,” she said hoarsely.

        “Then keep up,” he replied before briskly walking out of the room. She followed him, favoring her leg. The bullet wound was hurting significantly more today and she winced with each step. She was determined to do at least this. She couldn’t bear to be touched anymore.

        They walked toward the back of the long building, past a long corridor of closed doors. Red banners adorned the walls, emblazoned with the faded golden bull. Though it was a short walk it felt like it lasted an eon to Joan’s calf.

        Finally they arrived in front of a closed door like all the others. The Legionary rapped twice with the back of his knuckles.

        “Come in.”

        Joan felt a stab of coldness at the voice. She tried to search for the fire within her.

        The Legionary opened the door and they entered the room. Vulpes Inculta was sitting behind a large metal desk. A few terminals dotted the desk, their screens dusty, reflecting the light that poured in from the large picture windows behind him. File cabinets lined the room, neatly labeled, with books and documents stacked on top. In the center of the desk on a tattered blotter was her Pipboy.

        Her pulse quickened.

        The Legionary pushed her into a chair on the opposite side of the desk before drawing out a set of handcuffs. She looked out the window as he handcuffed her wrists together, locking her in tightly before chaining the cuffs to the leg of the desk. She could see Legionaries outside, gathered around a fire. They were engaged in exercises; she watched a neat row of them performing pushups in militant synchronization before her eyes flicked back down to her Pipboy.

        “Good morning,” Vulpes Inculta said politely. Joan looked back up at the window in silence.

        “When my Lord speaks, you will answer him,” the Legionary said before backhanding her. She gritted her teeth and lurched hard to the side, jerking her bound hands up to try to rub at the stinging red mark he’d left on her cheekbone. She tugged at the chain, her hands unable to rise any higher than her waist. She cursed and hunched her shoulder up, pressing her cheek into it. She finally looked at Vulpes Inculta.

        “ _Good morning_ ,” she said venomously. Vulpes Inculta looked satisfied and dismissed the Legionary, leaving the two of them in the room alone together.

        “I’ll get right to the point,” he said as the door shut quietly. “Since you look… _tired_ this morning. Understandably.”

        She glared at him. Her cheek burned and it felt wonderful.

        “Get on with it then,” she said, narrowing her eyes. Vulpes Inculta looked less amused before proceeding.

        “I’ve been working very hard for the past two years, since I noticed that you were gone,” he began. “I’ve been trying to break through your side of Hoover Dam. We weren’t going to squander the opportunity that you presented.”

        She stiffened. Her fears had been right—he did try to retake the Dam during her time in the Commonwealth.

        “However… Your machines, those robots, have proven to be more of a challenge than my men were capable of dealing with. We could barely cross the river before being beaten back each time.”

        “Is that why you allow your men to use chems now?” Joan asked quietly, tilting her chin up and allowing a smirk to cross her face. She knew Yes Man wouldn’t let her down. Vulpes Inculta glanced at her, his expression dark.

        “How very astute of you. It became… _clear_ after the first engagement that my men would need some assistance if we were to win the Dam. It’s not something I approve of, but it’s become a necessary evil.

        “I’ve been inspecting your Pipboy all morning,” he continued after a moment, changing the subject. Joan watched him keenly, sensing that the Legion might be struggling in a way that she had not anticipated; perhaps Joshua had been right after all about no one being able to lead them the way that Caesar had.

        “You’ve worn this thing for as long as I’ve known you, since even the first time we met. It’s clearly very important to you.” Vulpes Inculta paused, splaying one hand across the desk and staring hard at her.

        “That, combined with the fact that even during your absence they were able to defend Hoover Dam, I think I would be correct in assuming that you can use this thing to control your robotic servants.”

        Joan blinked at him.

        “No,” she said. “I can only do that from Vegas. I can’t direct them through my Pipboy.”

        “Don’t lie to me,” he said heatedly.

        “I’m not,” she replied, shrugging her shoulders innocently. She focused on the technicality of her truth; she couldn’t control her Securitrons at all through her Pipboy—he had said nothing of Yes Man.

        Vulpes Inculta looked agitated, his brows furrowed together.

        “Why else would you strap this foolish thing to your wrist for the past eight years then? It serves no other observable purpose beyond maps and a radio, both of which you could just carry with you and attract far less attention. It must be useful to you in some way,” he said. Joan bristled, annoyed.

        “I don’t know,” she snapped back at him. “I don’t know why you were wearing a stupid looking dog’s head the first time we met, but I don’t see any point in questioning it.”

        Vulpes Inculta looked thunderous for a flash before he pursed his lips, composing himself. The two stared at each other for a hot moment before he sank back in his chair.

        “So you can’t control your robots from the Pipboy,” he said, sounding slightly deflated before perking back up.

        “That’s fine then. You can tell me what I can do to disable them. I’ve tried using EMP grenades and mines on them, but they’re incredibly limited in supply. My men would manage to destroy a handful but it would seem that another ten, twenty, would rise in its place. We just didn’t have enough of them to sustain ourselves.”

        Joan felt a touch of pride again, though she did try harder to conceal it this time.

        “I tried to gather more. I dispatched a number of Frumentarii to Hidden Valley,” Vulpes Inculta continued. “To that bunker that the Brotherhood of Steel once used. That turned out to be fruitless. It would seem that somebody had destroyed the bunker,” he said, staring pointedly at her. Joan cast her eyes down, her cheeks turning faintly pink.

        “I wonder how that happened,” he reiterated acerbically.

        Joan stared into her lap. Long buried memories of Veronica surfaced in her mind. Though, she thought, at least I was much more merciful that the Legion would have been. If it was inevitable, she could consider her destruction of the Bunker a favor to them. She looked back up at Vulpes Inculta.

        “I don’t know what to tell you. My Securitrons can only be controlled or disabled from Vegas. I can’t do anything to help you from here,” she said.

        Vulpes Inculta looked annoyed with her and Joan stared at her Pipboy again. She was trying to think of how she could trick him into opening up the messages panel, that maybe she could record a new message and somehow send it. She could still recall the coordinates she had studied the previous day.

        Vulpes Inculta stood from his desk, catching her off guard. She pressed into the hard wooden slats that comprised the back of her chair as he circled the desk and she looked down at the floor again, her stomach curling with fear. He swept past her to the door of the office and opened it. She heard another pair of boots enter the room and Vulpes Inculta speaking quietly. She lifted her head again, straining to hear him; she couldn’t discern anything. After a moment he stepped back to his seat behind the desk.

        “You’re dismissed,” he said. “We’ll talk about this later.”

        The Legionary approached Joan and uncuffed her, leaving the chain and cuff latched to the desk. She stared miserably at it. She had no doubt that she would be back in this seat again.

        He bent to pull her into his arms and she swatted at him.

        “I said I can—” Her breath expelled out of her in a hard rush as he hauled her over his shoulder and carried her from the room. She looked up and just managed to catch Vulpes Inculta’s eyes; dread welled within her when she saw that he stared back and gave her a small smile.

        The Legionary carried her down the hall and the dread spiked into panic when they passed her cell. She started to wriggle in his grasp, smacking his shoulder with her hand. He ignored her and carried her through the double doors of the compound, into the barren and sandy yard. The sun beat down hard on the sand, creating wavy shimmers in the air above it. He dropped her on the ground and she landed with a pained thud, agony blooming from the hole in her calf.

        “What the hell are you doing,” she said before inhaling sharply; he had withdrawn a rope from his belt and circled behind her. She was forced back against a thick wooden post that protruded from the ground and he quickly lashed her wrists to it. She tugged hard at the restraints, her shoulders already aching. She was sitting up, her arms tucked uncomfortably behind her, her legs pressed together out in front of her. She immediately started breathing frantically.

        She squeezed her eyes shut. Fear wrapped around her insides, digging in with insidious tendrils. She felt the soreness between her legs once more; she didn’t want to endure that again. She drew her knees up as far as she could withstand, her fingers turning cold in the heat. The Legionary padded away from her and she was left alone.

        She sat anxiously for several minutes, her throat painfully dry in the heat. She hadn’t had any food or water since her walk with Drusa and she was finally starting to feel it. Air quivered above the sand in front of her and she squinted at it, feeling dizzy again.

        She was staring down at her lap, her stomach burning, when boots appeared in front of her. She blinked and looked up. Vulpes Inculta was standing before her and she flinched back from him, coldness spiking in her hands and feet. Behind him were several other men and her chest began to rapidly rise and fall again. She drew her knees up tighter despite the pain screaming in her calf. Please God, she prayed, I can’t do this again.

        “Don’t worry,” Vulpes Inculta said pleasantly. “My men and I are quite spent after yesterday.”

        She narrowed her eyes up at him, not trusting him at all, especially not the tiny smile around his mouth.

        “I thought we might find some other way to entertain ourselves today,” he continued. Behind him the men drew something out from behind their backs. Joan’s eyes snapped open wide.

        They had hammers in their hands, the dull metal catching the sun and glinting.

        “You made me think about our first meeting earlier,” he said, his smile twisting. “It seems I made quite the impression on you then; you even remembered what I was wearing.”

        He paused and spread his hands out. Joan was pushing as far back into the wooden pole as she could manage, squeezing against her bruised spine. Her heart thundered in her chest.

        “You used to be a courier, though you don’t seem too proud of that these days,” he continued monotonously. “You seem much more content to sit in that ivory tower of yours on the New Vegas Strip. Surely you won’t miss the use of your feet too much.”

        He stepped back and gestured to his men, who advanced on her. Joan kicked back, trying to scramble away, her heart in her throat. Shrill noises erupted from her mouth as the first of the men grabbed her flailing legs, seizing her hard by the ankle and working at the buckle on her dress shoe. She thrashed, her shoulders pounding into the wooden pole.

        “Please don’t do this!” she cried, watching as her dress shoe sailed into the air, landing on the sand with a light thud and skidding away. Another Legionary was already unbuckling her other shoe and she kicked harder.

        “Stay still,” one of them said to her, as patiently as if he were speaking to a child as he held on to her leg. His arm jerked with her kicks. He huffed at her before crushing her legs into the ground and she shrieked at the contact he made with her injured calf. He turned and sat on her legs and she gritted her teeth hard with the pain shooting up her shin. She wrenched her hands, the ropes digging painfully into her wrists and scoring her as she cried out again. Vulpes Inculta stood a few feet away, watching her with his arms crossed, a satisfied look on his face. The Legionaries with hammers knelt in front of her.

        Joan screamed when the first hammer collided with her foot, hard enough to smash the thin bones there. She screamed with such intensity that it seared her throat and burned the corners of her mouth. They bent over her feet, repeatedly smashing into her toes and ankles with the heavy hammers, drawing their arms up above their heads before swiftly bringing them back down. The first strikes were like someone knocking on wood, light and hollow. After a minute the noises grew wetter and blood flecked up onto the Legionaries, their hammers speckled with crimson. Joan thrashed and screamed the entire time, her throat burning, her voice box scraped raw. Her vision darkened around the edges and she prayed she would pass out, anything to relieve her of the agony in her legs and feet. Sweat poured down her brows, down her neck, gathering in the small of her back and soaking into her suit. She thought it might never end.

        After an eternity they finally pulled away and she was gasping, her head light and pounding from lack of oxygen. She squeezed her eyes shut; she knew if she looked at her feet that she would vomit, only there would be nothing for her to produce, that she would only heave, dry and painful. She slumped back against the pole, her heart slamming in her chest. She could barely feel the Legionary that had circled her as he crouched and untied her. Her arms dropped and pain shot in her shoulders from the awkward angle they’d been mashed into. She was making thin rasping noises as another Legionary bent and picked her up. She dangled limply in his arms as he walked with her back to her cell.

        “Well done. You put on a much better show today,” Vulpes Inculta said, a broad smirk on his face as she was carried past him. “Vale!”


	8. Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea

Chapter 8: Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea

_The berth surrounding my body crushing every bit of bone; the salt, it seeps in through the pores of my open skin_

        Joan was dropped roughly in the center of her cell and she laid there, her legs thrust out stiff and awkward. The Legionary that had carried her said nothing to her as he turned around and exited the cell, locking it behind him with a dull thud. She coughed and sputtered, her throat raging. She ran her hand down her legs shakily, her fingers skidding to a stop once they reached her ankle. She pressed her eyes closed tightly and yanked her fingertips back. Her vision was still wobbly and darkened despite her glasses.

        She heard footsteps marching past her door and she looked up at the viewing window. She needed something to cope with the agony, and desperately.

        “Hey,” she coughed out raggedly. She called out again and the footsteps stilled.

        “Please, I need help,” she said. The viewing window slid open tentatively. She gasped with relief that it wasn’t Vulpes Inculta; instead it was a Legionary she hadn’t yet seen, one that looked almost as young as the one that had been nervous and skittish around her in the wagon during the ride from New Mexico. A dark bubble of laughter threatened to erupt from her—the cart ride felt like a lifetime ago now.

        “Please,” she said, restraining the manic burst. “I need Med-X. Desperately.”

        The Legionary bobbed to the side in the viewing window, bouncing back and forth indecisively.

        “Caesar says that’s only for emergencies,” he said. She swallowed; this had worked once, she prayed it would work a second time.

        “It is an emergency,” she rattled. She tried her best to seem weak and pathetic; it wasn’t difficult. “I’m an addict. I haven’t had any Med-X since I was brought here. If I don’t get some soon I could die.”

        She could see a small battle waging on the Legionary’s youthful features. The gears in his head turned and she felt as though she could read his mind—he warred between uncertain mistrust and a desire to please his master with initiative and forward thinking. She watched him as he deliberated. She had cast out her line; it was up to God whether she reeled in a sucker or not.

        “If it’s just a small dose…” he said, trailing off. He abruptly turned away and she could hear him jogging off. She stared at the open viewing window, swallowing against the sickness in her stomach. She couldn’t tell what hurt more, her calf or her feet. She had a terrible sneaking suspicion that her bullet wound was developing an infection, judging by the renewed fire that seared in it today. She couldn’t bear to even let her fingertips brush over it, lest she shriek out in pain again. She lay panting with the pain in her leg and feet until the young Legionary returned a moment later. In the viewing window was a syringe of Med-X, as sweet as ambrosia, and she perked up staring at it. He fed the needle through the viewing window and flicked out his fingers, sending it flying through the air. It landed on the floor near Joan and she didn’t even care if it was dirtied.

        She had immediately reached out for it when she heard thundering footsteps on the other side of the door, reverberating like a stampede of brahmin. She jerked her head up just in time to hear a loud thump strike against the metal door and a grunt of pain as the Legionary slid away from the viewing window. Taking his place was Vulpes Inculta, his brows contracted together over his blazing eyes. He glared at her hard for a moment before turning and she could hear him strike the young Legionary again before ordering him to go and wait in the yard. She heard the Legionary rasp and trudge away, his dragging footsteps fading after a moment.

        Vulpes Inculta whipped back around and stared at her before his eyes caught the syringe on the floor. He unlocked the dead bolt and panic surged in Joan; frantically she tried to crawl to the corner of the room, grinding her teeth together at the shards of agony that dug deep into her feet. She had managed to drag herself less than a foot when he turned around and shut and locked the door behind him. Her heart slammed hard against her ribcage again at the jangle of the keys and she urgently prayed under her breath in a shrill whisper.

        Vulpes Inculta strode to the syringe before bending and picking it up, scrutinizing it. His eyes bounced back to Joan who was huddling away from him, making strangled cries of pain as she continued to drag herself by her hands across the floor.

        “Would you like this?” he asked quietly. She stilled, turning her bloodshot eyes toward him. She was too afraid to respond.

        “Obviously you would or else you wouldn’t have made such a show of begging for it,” he began. “It would seem that you _are_ starting to learn from these lessons. That’s good.”

        He delivered a sharp flick to the syringe and stepped toward her. She cringed back from him, scrambling faster toward the wall.

        “Consider this a reward then; you’ve been a good girl today. You were much more interesting to watch than you were yesterday,” he said with a boyish smile. He knelt beside her on the floor and she tried to crawl in the other direction away from him, the misery in her feet be damned. He touched her arm and she shrieked before immediately feeling immense burning hatred at the satisfaction on his face. She clenched her hands, opening and closing them manically in rapid succession.

        “It’s only a small dose, I’m afraid. Surely not what you’re used to,” he continued, staring down at her. “But you deserve at least that. I can be merciful, when I choose.”

        “Fine,” she croaked, thrusting her hand out expectantly. He looked down at it.

        “No. I don’t think you can be trusted with anything sharp.” He reached out for her and began to unbutton her shirt cuff, rolling the sleeve up after it. She recoiled away from him, her throat dry. She resisted the urge to slam her eyes shut; she knew she would see him again, naked and sweaty in her arms. She jerked when he touched the bare skin of her forearm and he stilled, growing annoyed.

        “Do you want this or not?” he asked. She raised her eyes to meet his and bit her lip. She wanted the Med-X more than she wanted anything on this earth; she would have given every single cap of her considerable fortune just for a drop of it. His hands hovered over her pockmarked arm. Her leg and feet seared.

        She held her arm out to him submissively, hating herself, hating the look of satisfaction on his face. She twisted her face away as he took her arm. He was gentle with her, lightly holding her arm in place as he sought the vein. He was much more experienced at this than the Decanus had been. Bitterly she wanted to ask him about his own degenerate and dissolute ways but was determined not to do that; the thought of the hammers glinting in the sunlight quelled her urge to snap at him. In a moment she felt the needle pierce the flesh at the crook of her arm. She couldn’t have done it any better herself.

        Then Vulpes Inculta was pulling the syringe away, tucking it carefully onto the floor beside him. He tenderly rolled her sleeves back down, buttoning her cuff neatly. She felt sick again.

        “There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked her, still sitting next to her. She was leaning hard on her elbow, her throat raw and sore. She wished he would leave.

        He continued to sit and she could feel his cold eyes burning on her.

        “Don’t you think I deserve something?” he said. She immediately stilled, a different type of terror flooding her. She turned her eyes to him, as wide and bright as spotlights, and he threw his head back and laughed with genuine mirth.

        “Nothing as exciting as that, my dear Courier. A mere ‘thank you’ will suffice,” he said, biting his lip against further laughter. She narrowed her eyes at him, humiliation searing into her neck and face.

        “Thank you,” she said stiffly. She didn’t want him to rescind his offer on what he thought would be a good enough token of appreciation. He tilted his chin up and looked down his nose at her, unconcealed pleasure on his face.

        “Very good, Joan. Take a few hours to rest; tonight you can help me with that Pipboy of yours in my office again.” He grabbed the needle and hopped up lightly to his feet and she collapsed back onto the floor. He crossed the room and exited without further word and Joan sagged, blinking rapidly at the ceiling.

***

        It wasn’t much Med-X, as Vulpes Inculta had promised, but it had been enough to take the sharpest edge off the pain in her leg and feet. Joan dozed dreamlessly for a few hours, lying very still.

        By the time she woke up night had fallen again. She looked up out of the small window from her vantage point on the floor. It was darker than usual outside; the sliver of moon had finally been consumed by the darkness, leaving an empty gap in the stars. She rubbed her eyes and sat up before looking down at her feet and wincing.

        It was bad. Her feet were covered from toe to heel to ankle with deep angry lacerations and round hammer shaped indents. What wasn’t peeling and red was bruising sickly yellow and purple. She supposed she should thank God that they hadn’t used the claw ends of their damned hammers. She didn’t dare try to flex her toes; she could see for herself that they were likely irreparably mangled, pulpy and fleshy. Blood was thickly crusted on the arches of her feet. She looked away.

        Her throat raged and she swallowed painfully. It had been more than two days since she had had water. With the amount of screaming and other things her mouth had endured, her tongue felt rough like sandpaper again. Her lips were painfully dry, peeling and cracked at the center. She longed to draw her knees to her chest as she had always done to comfort herself and felt a fresh well of hatred for Vulpes Inculta that he had ripped that away from her too. She sat seething, feeding the furious bright anger within her when the viewing window slid open again.

        Another faceless Legionary. She dimly wondered if he had been among the group that violated her; most of them wore goggles and head-wraps. She would have no way of knowing.

        “I’m here to bring you to Caesar’s office,” he said, sliding open the bolt and stepping inside. Joan was too tired and pained to pull away from him. He was nicer than most of the others—he kneeled and picked her up carefully, holding her beneath her knees and shoulders so that her feet would hang clear of him. She was unhappy to be so close to him but found that she was too fatigued to care; after a moment she let herself lean against him, accepting the scrap of kindness he was affording her as he carefully carried her to the back of the compound.

        All too soon he was fumbling open the door to the office and she saw Vulpes Inculta look up from one of the terminals at his desk. The Legionary sat her in the chair that she had been in earlier. She could tell that he was trying to be careful with her; he winced at her cry of pain when her feet touched the ground, jerking hard in his arms. He withdrew away from her and was spinning around to leave when she called out to him.

        “Thank you,” she said, genuinely grateful. Vulpes Inculta’s brows arched quickly before settling low, his lips pursing together for a fraction of a second before disappearing into the coldly neutral expression he usually wore. The Legionary turned back to face her and he looked surprised too.

        “You’re welcome,” he said uncomfortably before leaving the office, closing the door behind him. Joan stared at the closed door for a beat before turning and facing Vulpes Inculta.

        “Not going to have me chained to the desk?” she asked dully.

        “What are you going to do, run away?”

        She stared balefully at him.

        “I can see that my lessons have been penetrating that thick skull of yours,” he said conversationally. “But if you’d rather be tied up, I’m more than happy to oblige you. You seem like the degenerate type that would enjoy that.”

        “As opposed to the degenerate type that _enjoys_ doing the tying up?” she shot back, the fear of the hammers temporarily forgotten.

        “There’s nothing degenerate about being in power. It’s disgusting to let yourself be debased and subjugated,” he replied, folding his hands across the desk.

        “So what about Drusa then?” Joan asked. Vulpes Inculta tilted his head questioningly.

        “She told me that you promised her a house and slaves of her own. Were you actually going to do that?” Joan asked. It felt strange to be having an almost normal conversation with him. He leaned back in his chair, watching her.

        “I would have assigned her to be the wife of a Centurion, and she would have enjoyed the privilege of his personal slaves and household. It comes down to the same thing,” he said. Joan made a disgusted noise at him.

        “Don’t look so offended; Drusa could have done much, _much_ worse than that. I think you have an idea about how much worse it could be.” He paused.

        “Or perhaps you need more lessons after all.”

        Joan flinched backward, disliking the cold edge that had taken over his already chilly eyes. He stood from his chair and the coldness sprang up in her fingertips and crept up her hands and arms. She leaned away from him as he circled the desk and approached her.

        “You said you wanted my help with the Pipboy,” she said, leaning as far as she could from him as he bent over her, one hand on the back of her chair.

        “So I did,” he began, looking down on her. “You can’t use it to control your robot army, can you? You really weren’t lying.”

        “N-no,” she said, closing her eyes, fear shooting up her spine as she twisted her face away. “The most I could do is use the radio to send a message to Ye—to my personal robot, and tell him to deactivate the army.”

        Vulpes Inculta grabbed her arm and she yelped as he twisted her back around to face him.

        “So you _can_ control them,” he said heatedly. He leaned over and seized her Pipboy off the blotter and thrust it in her face. She recoiled from the green and black screen.

        “I can’t do that,” she said stiffly. He shook her arm roughly and she cried out in pain as she automatically tried to steady herself with her feet.

        “It wouldn’t work!” she breathed raggedly. Vulpes Inculta stared hard down at her.

        “Why not?”

        “He would know that I don’t actually want him to do that. He would know that I’m under duress.

        “And once he figured that out,” she spoke slowly, turning her eyes up to Vulpes Inculta’s. “He would send every single Securitron I have out here in retaliation.”

        Vulpes Inculta’s eyebrows shot up and a brief look of fear flashed across his face. She tried to draw her arm away from him but he bore down on it, digging his fingertips into the muscle hard enough that she squealed. Vulpes Inculta bent down to meet her at eye level and she leaned back from him again, her eyes wet with pain.

        “You’re quickly outliving your usefulness, Courier,” he said. A new fear spread in her, rising up from her broken feet to her knees, settling hard in her groin and stomach. She could feel a scream rising in her throat.

        “You’re not totally naïve,” Vulpes Inculta continued, leaning forward to close the distance she tried to create. “You know I didn’t bring you here just to be fucked and kicked around by my Legionaries. When I’ve got all that I want out of you, do you know what’s going to happen?”

        She jerked her head in refusal, too terrified not to oblige him.

        “Your head is going to be on a pike outside my compound. The rest of you is going to be strung up on a cross, as you deserve,” he spat at her. A wave of nausea and dizziness overwhelmed her and she squeezed her eyes shut hard. In her mind’s eye she could see what he described in horrific, exacting detail. When she opened her eyes again she saw that he looked much milder and slickly polite again.

        “Not that I don’t plan on having fun with you first,” he said, placing his hand on her knee. She swallowed hard again, her hands trembling.

        “It’s so easy to get under your skin,” he continued softly. “You don’t seem to mind violence at all, although it took me longer than it should have to see that. You took a backhand with barely a whimper, and even then you just looked satisfied and invigorated afterward. You wouldn’t even give me the satisfaction of begging and screaming as my men had their way with you. But all I have to do is this…” he trailed off and ran the back of his hand up her thigh and under her skirt, his knuckles barely grazing her. She started breathing faster and he snorted a small laugh at her. The tips of his fingers explored her for a moment and she jerked away from him, feeling like she was on the verge of dry heaving again, her face pinched in misery.

        “You look like I’ve just killed your favorite pet,” he said. She screwed her eyes tightly shut again.

        “I can’t say it’s to my usual taste,” he continued, drawing closer to her and nuzzling into her neck, his hand cupped under her skirt and working slowly. Her pulse beat rapidly below his lips and he kissed her tenderly there.

        “It’s been an interesting change of pace though, I’ll give you that. I had such a good time yesterday, I think we’ll have to try that again tonight,” he murmured against her throat. Tears welled in Joan’s eyes and she flexed her hands uselessly. For a moment she would have welcomed his teeth digging into her artery and ripping her wide open, anything to spare her from him again.

        “Don’t worry, we’ll have other types of fun tomorrow,” he continued, his breath hot against her jugular. “I was thinking those pale little fingers would look nice all smashed up too. You were better at servicing me with your mouth anyway. Then you can tell me all about what you were doing when you weren’t in the Mojave and what you know of Joshua Graham.”

        Abruptly he pulled away from her and looked at her white face, smiling wickedly. She clenched her hands into terrified fists, burying her fingertips protectively into the meat of her palms.

        “But, business before pleasure. I might not be able to do anything about your robot army, but there are other matters that you can be useful to me with,” he said, turning and settling into his chair again. Joan breathed heavily, dread hanging over her. She leaned forward, blinking furiously, determined not to let him see her cry as her shoulders hitched painfully. She thought of Randall Clark and prayed to God for someone to watch over her.


	9. Gladiator

Chapter 9: Gladiator

_Picked a fight with the gods, I'm the giant slayer; bone shaker, dominator, freight train, wrecking ball—I'm the gladiator_

        Joan was still bent forward in her chair, humiliated and blinking back horrified tears. Vulpes Inculta leaned back, drinking her in with vindictive pleasure.

        “About that gun of yours—”

        Vulpes Inculta was abruptly cut off by a rattle of gunfire in the distance. They both perked up. He turned and looked out the large picture window; only their reflections looked back at them in the darkness. Joan looked around and heard another harsh patter of gunfire ring out again. Vulpes Inculta turned back to the desk without concern and Joan slumped in her chair; the gunfire was distinctly mechanical, not lasers like her Securitrons would have. She was quickly losing faith that they would come and save her and she contemplated trying to enrage Vulpes Inculta into killing her after all; she couldn’t withstand another night with him. Another night followed by another day of the hammers, then God knew how many others before he finally extracted all that he wanted out of her and lashed her to a cross and beheaded her. Just as she had done to Caesar. She wondered if God would finally notice her if she suffered enough. She flexed her fingers in her grip and tried to cherish them while she could.

        Vulpes Inculta had just opened his mouth to speak again when the door of the office slammed open, bouncing hard against the wall. He and Joan both jumped in their seats, Joan wincing at the pain that shot up her legs. A terrified Legionary charged into the room, panting and breathing heavily and Vulpes Inculta immediately stood from his desk, alarm on his face.

        “What’s going on?” he asked sharply. The Legionary was babbling, lurched over and gasping. Vulpes Inculta strode past Joan and grabbed his shoulder, jerking him hard.

        “Speak!” he commanded. The Legionary jerked his head up, his dark eyes wild. He was older than most of the men Joan had seen around the compound; faint lines wrinkled around his eyes and mouth, his skin darkened by the sun.

        “It’s—it’s _him_ , my Lord, it’s him! It’s the Burned Man!” he cried frantically.

        Joan shot up in her seat, her heartbeat skipping before racing in her chest, her eyes almost painfully wide.

        “The Burned Man is fast approaching, h-he’s got his army, the Canaanites!” he babbled again. Vulpes Inculta’s eyes had also widened, a look of shock that she’d never seen before on his usually placid face. The look was swiftly replaced with unbridled fury and he struck the Legionary hard with the back of his hand, sending him stumbling.

“I’ve told you, he is _not_ the Burned Man,” Vulpes Inculta said darkly, his voice rising in pitch. “He is Joshua Graham, he is a man, not a legend!” The Legionary recoiled away from him, holding his arms up in front of his ashen and terrified face.

        “I-I’m sorry my Lord!” he said. “But it’s him, he’s almost here!”

        Vulpes Inculta immediately spun around, the beam of his rage swinging to Joan, who tried to scramble away from him despite the agony searing her feet. He grabbed her by the arm and yanked her fully out of the chair and she cried out in pain, her shoulder popping.

        “How!” he snarled in her face and she mashed her eyes shut against him. He shook her violently, as though she was a ragdoll and she cried out again. “You had something to do with this, I know it!”

        “I d-didn’t!” she cried out in shock. Terror and hope flooded her in nearly equal portion and she gasped for air, feeling lightheaded.

        “Liar!” he shouted before reaching down with his free hand; he wrapped his fingers around her small calf and squeezed hard around the bullet wound and she screamed, jerking and writhing in his grip.

        “I-I swear it!” she choked, tears of pain flooding down her face. “I haven’t seen him in years, let alone spoken to him!”

        “Don’t lie to me,” he hissed but she was incoherent with agony now, frantically babbling at him, her face wet and red with pain. He threw her to the ground and she screamed again, hunching over her leg and trembling. The gunfire had erupted again in the distance and this time it didn’t stop, instead slowly swelling and growing louder.

        “Take her back to her cell,” Vulpes Inculta commanded the Legionary. He shot her one final murderous look before spinning away from them. “The men need direction. Get back outside once you’re done.” He tore out of the room and Joan heard him thudding away down the long hallway.

        The Legionary yanked Joan by her arm, attempting to haul her to her feet and she wailed loudly. Quickly he bent and picked her up, whisking her out of the office. As they proceeded down the hall she could hear other Legionaries now too, furiously shouting in Latin. Just before entering her cell she caught a glimpse of Vulpes Inculta; he was tugging on familiar football pads and the rest of his armor, shouting directions and commands through a walkie-talkie.

        The Legionary dumped her in her room and slammed the metal door shut, locking it behind him. Joan winced, her hands fluttering around her injured leg, the agony in her feet overwhelmed for the moment. From her cell she could hear more gunfire and in the distance, screaming. She sat up, straining to hear more. Hope flared bright within the darkness in her.

        Joshua Graham, she thought, her face mottling pink through the pained paleness. She hadn’t seen him once since her last visit to Zion, just after the battle for Hoover Dam. She scrubbed at her scarred forefinger distractedly. She had been busy leading New Vegas, being the best ruler to them that she could be, rebuilding and expanding the communities of Nipton and outer Vegas. She had also been nervous to enter Zion again, although she would never admit that to herself; during the years she had spent preparing for her journey to Boston she had been hearing about him on the radio with growing frequency. Stories of the Burned Man, as they called him. Rumors and tales of depravity and cruelty that she could scarcely believe, causing her to obstinately turn off the radio every time they came on.

        Stories that had to be overblown, exaggerated. He was a darkly imposing man with his burned flesh and bandaging; what sort of average person wouldn’t feel nervous just to look at him, she had decided. His former reputation with the Legion had to be preceding him—she had seen with her own two eyes the sort of man he had become. She alone saw him as he really was.

        She heard Vulpes Inculta yelling at his men again before a stampede of booted feet fled by, the doors of the compound slamming open as they charged through it. The building was left eerily empty and quiet in their absence. The gunfire continued to rage outside, the yelling and screaming becoming more distinct.

        Joan flattened to the floor again, looking up through the window—it was too high for her to discern anything. The adobe wall outside likely would have obscured any view she might have had anyway, and she sat back up again, crawling closer to the wall so she could better hear what was happening outside.

        For a long while all she could hear was the mounting sounds of gunfire and screams that tore through the air, cut by harsh shouting. She sat, fluctuating between terror and hope. Hope that she might be rescued—by Joshua Graham of all the people in this world—but terrible stabs of sickly fear prevented the light within her from flourishing. What if Joshua failed? She had spent years trying to keep the Legion at bay, and she had an entire army of Securitrons at her command. The last time she had seen Joshua he led a rather small band of men. They weren’t to be underestimated, but there was no way they could possibly stand against the mass of the Legion. Could they? She had been gone for two years; she supposed anything could have happened during that time. She closed her eyes and cast her mind back to the past, to the snippets of news reports that had managed to pierce the wall she had erected around herself regarding Joshua. Though she tried to ignore it, she knew he had amassed more men at his side, taking over swaths of Utah, some stories reporting his reach as far as Wyoming and parts of Idaho.

        What else had happened while she was in the Commonwealth?

        She leaned against the wall, contemplating her situation, and her eyes caught the dark night sky above her again, redirecting her course of thought. Of course, it occurred to her. She and Joshua had confronted the White Legs on a night much like this one; of course he would have waited for the darkness of the new moon to launch an attack on the Legion. He must have been lying in wait for this night. A sad dark laugh exploded out of her; she had endured everything while he had likely been within a few miles of her, oblivious to it all. She couldn’t hold it against him obviously, in fact she tried not to, suddenly superstitious that he would fail or be captured himself if she dared to doubt him. She lowered her head, the gunfire blazing louder outside, the fight nearing the compound itself; she prayed quietly below her breath for God to look out for both of them on this dark night.

        Fresh sounds pierced her prayers and she looked up. She heard the doors of the compound slam open again and more yelling.

        “Bar the doors!” Vulpes Inculta bellowed frantically against the pounding and scrambling sounds of Legionaries. “Get those mines laid down, now!”

        Joan perked up against the wall, a hot rush of hope bursting within her. Gooseflesh rose on her arms and legs and her breathing felt shuddery and wracked. She was afraid to believe that the Canaanites were actually winning but she didn’t know what other conclusion she could possibly draw at this point. Outside her window, within the adobe walls of the compound itself, she could hear more shouting, this time in the tongue of the Canaanites: Res, Joshua had called it. Vulpes Inculta and the Legionaries pounded past her door in a mad flight. Her lips were dry from her nervous shallow breathing and she licked them anxiously. Doors slammed further down the long hallway and more yelling emanated from within them. Outside was still more screaming, tortured and injured sounding.

        An explosion tore through the walls of the compound and Joan jerked, crying out in fear. The mines that Vulpes Inculta had ordered to be laid at the doors of the compound must had gone off and she jerked away from the walls as they shook and reverberated with the force, hairline cracks forming in the aged plaster. She heard new voices speaking in Res, this time from within the building. She gasped and dragged herself across the room, fire searing her feet and leg, but she didn’t care. She crawled to the door and began frantically pounding her fists against it.

        “PLEASE!” she screamed, banging as hard on the door as she could. She could hear bare feet tearing through the opposite end of the compound.

        “PLEASE HELP ME, I’VE BEEN HELD PRISONER!” she screamed again, the sides of her hands aching and burning with each strike. Terrible emotion welled in her; it felt strange and alien to be emoting so freely and she could feel tears welling in her eyes.

        “LET ME OUT!” She bit back the tears and continued to pound on the door, her throat hurting and rasping. Her movements grew slow and ragged as several long minutes dragged by, gunfire and shouting drowning out her weak cries for help.

        Footsteps pounded down the hall toward her door and she scrambled backward, craning her neck to look up at the viewing window as it slammed open.

        Vulpes Inculta looked down at her, his eyes burning into hers. She gasped and crawled faster, whimpering at the pain in her legs. The deadbolt rammed open and he threw open the door. She shrieked at the gun in his hands—it was not her own gun, but a rifle, one that he immediately lifted and pointed directly at her.

        Time slowed to a crawl as she stared down the barrel. This was it, she thought numbly; if he was going to die he was going to take her down to Hell with him. A coldness so complete flooded over her that she felt suddenly exhausted. It came back down to this—lying broken and battered with a gun pointed at her head. He was finally going to finish what Benny had started. Dull acceptance washed over her; she had been living on borrowed time for more than eight years now. It was a luckier streak than many in this life got, she supposed, though it still seemed terribly unfair. She reached up and caressed her bible through the front of her suit and asked God to forgive all that she had done, that He would understand in His infinite wisdom that she had only ever had good intentions.

        A single gunshot rang out and Vulpes Inculta jerked as the bullet whizzed past him, tearing his eyes away from Joan and looking back at the hallway. She saw real and genuine terror on his paper white face, his eyes round, his lips parted, his nostrils flared.

        “ **You**.”

        Another voice, one that was much deeper and more commanding spoke out from down the hallway. Her eyes flew open wide and her chest seemed to expand nearly painfully, bursting with a barrage of emotions she could barely have named let alone picked out individually.

        “Thus you have shown no pity: life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot,” Joshua Graham said, his voice low. Vulpes Inculta stared at him, rooted in place as though he were seeing a ghost, his jaw hanging slack.

        “You showed me no pity when you suggested to Edward that I be covered in pitch before being lit on fire,” Joshua continued. Joan flinched at his voice, her eyes huge in the gloom of the cell as she stared at Vulpes Inculta.

        “And thus you’ll receive none from me.”

        Vulpes Inculta roared, finally jerked out of his terrified reverie and raising his gun up at Joshua, but it was too late. Joshua Graham charged forward shoulder first and slammed into Vulpes Inculta, smashing him against the doorframe and he wheezed out in pain, the breath knocked out of his lungs as his rifle flew out of his hands. Joan hitched, seeing Joshua for the first time in seven years.

        Vulpes Inculta slid down the metal frame of the door, his eyes dazed, his movements jerky as he shoved back against Joshua. The two tumbled to the floor, and Vulpes Inculta was shouting, all traces of his cool demeanor vanished; his voice was high and thin, ragged and gasping as Joshua lunged at him once more, jumping on him with his full weight. He cried out again, his arms lifted protectively against Joshua, who was straddling his stomach now. Joan watched them, mashing herself against the wall, her fingers turning to brittle shards of ice.

        Joshua struck at his arms hard, pinning one of them to the floor with his bandaged hand and Vulpes Inculta began to shriek, high and shrill, piercing Joan, digging into her like needles. Joshua drew his arm back, craning it as far as he could—the butt of his personalized gun glinted in the lamplight from the hallway for a fraction of a second before he brought it down swiftly, smashing it into Vulpes Inculta’s face.

        The scream that tore through the air was nightmarish and Joan recoiled away from it, drawing her knees up protectively despite the sharp pain in her legs and feet. Joshua jerked his arm up and brought it down again and the screams continued, anguished and terrified, inhuman. Again and again his arm moved in a brutal arc, slamming the snakeskin adorned butt of the pistol into Vulpes Inculta as his screaming grew thinner and weaker. Eventually bloody wet sounds replaced the shuddered noises and Joan stared transfixed as blood began to fleck from the mashed and red pulp of Vulpes Inculta’s face, spattering Joshua’s white sleeves, speckling the bandages on his face. His eyes were wild and lost, completely absorbed in striking him over and over and over again, his breathing growing rapid and guttural.

        The wet sounds turned hollow and soon Joan could hear the cracking of bone, tiny shards flinging outward with the blood. Joshua continued to strike him with such unrestrained ferocity that the blood splattered in a greater radius; a few dots of it landed on Joan’s legs, one of them catching her hand as it lay in a terrified claw on her lap.

        Cold nausea rolled in Joan’s stomach; Vulpes Inculta’s face wouldn’t be recognizable to his own mother now, if he had one. Joshua’s movements grew slower and sluggish, and his shoulders heaved up and down, leaving him panting. He reared back and smashed into the crater of Vulpes Inculta’s mangled head one last time with the butt of his gun before tossing it away onto the floor beside him and sitting back, his pocketed vest rising and falling sharply as he tilted his face to the heavens and exhaled heavily, his arms falling to his sides. The butt and grip of his gun were slicked with blood; small pale pieces of flesh and brain matter adhered to the shingled snakeskin.

        Joan’s back and shoulders ached; she hadn’t realized how hard she’d been crushing herself against the wall, and her eyes were dry and parched. She blinked a few times, staring at Joshua Graham.

        He turned his head and for a moment she caught his icy blue eyes, still hazy and clouded with bloodlust before they jerked open wide.

        She pressed back against the wall reflexively and he gasped.

        “ _Joan_?”

        He stiffly pulled himself off of Vulpes Inculta’s sprawled corpse, drawing himself up to his feet and Joan stared up at him. Spots of red adorned the bandaging on his jaw and cheek and he stared down at her with disbelief in his eyes, as though he were the one to see a ghost now.

        Joan’s throat was dry and she didn’t trust herself to speak. Joshua looked her up and down; her battered and wrinkled suit hung limp and dirty on her, her black hair oily and mussed under her desperado hat. He stiffened as his eyes trailed further down, first at the mangled hole in her calf and then to her shattered feet. His eyes widened as they traveled back up, lingering on her torn skirt; Joan’s hand darted to mask the dried blood that was still crusted to her thigh, but the damage was done. She saw the terrible dark comprehension on his face.

        “My God…” he murmured barely audibly, shock and sorrow behind his eyes as he seemed to be at a loss for what to do.

        Rage flared hot enough inside her that she shivered with it, her brows lowering as she glared hard at him, her teeth grinding against each other.

        “Do _not_ fucking look at me like that,” she snarled darkly at him. His eyebrows shot up.

        “Go,” she said, her chest heaving. She jerked her scarred pointer finger out toward the door. There was still gunfire and screaming outside, still cries and shouting in Latin.

        “Go and finish your work,” she commanded raggedly. “God knows there’s much to be done.”

        She hunched over, too proud and angry, shielding her body from him. She couldn’t bear to see the mournful pity that lurked behind his eyes; she would rather set herself on fire than be looked at like that by anyone, least of all him. He stood stiffly, staring at her before another burst of gunfire rang out. They could hear yelling in Res. His eyes shuttered and he nodded at her, bending and picking up his blood streaked gun from the floor.

        “I promise I’ll be back,” he said before kicking Vulpes Inculta’s body out of the doorway and into the hall. He cast one last look back at her before closing the door again, leaving it unlocked. Joan sagged against the wall as soon as he was gone and buried her face in her hands, the pads of her glasses digging uncomfortably into her nose. She breathed deep and shuddery for a few moments, trying to restrain the tidal wave of emotion within her.

        Behind her closed eyes the events of the past few days flashed rapidly: X6-88’s hollow eyes, Drusa, the Decanus between her thighs, the hammers glinting in the sun; Vulpes Inculta’s flushed wet lips, Joshua’s voice for the first time in years, the butt of the pistol swinging up and down with cruel savagery. She gasped and heaved for a torturous moment before just managing to contain herself—fiery warmth burned bright inside her, casting away the bleak darkness that had been threatening to consume her since she had been caught at the Legion checkpoint.

        Despite everything, she had survived.


	10. Climbing the Eyewall

Chapter 10: Climbing the Eyewall

_Loving him was not just a coincidence, I tell you— he was broke, I was broken too_

        Joan sprawled her legs out, finally feeling the tension that had been winding tighter and tighter in her body burn away into nothingness. She tenderly massaged her calf, keeping her fingers clear of the bullet hole before bending forward and sniffing the air cautiously—she recoiled.

        “I did not fucking survive all of this to die of an infection,” she hissed to herself.

        The door of the cell cracked open and she startled, balling her hands into fists and glaring at the door, her nostrils flared, ready for a fight. The gunfire and yelling outside was still going strong but she didn’t know if any Legionaries had decided to exact their master’s final wishes in a last bid for glory. She mashed herself against the wall, the fire in her legs and feet temporarily overridden with adrenaline.

        “Joan?”

        She gasped; Follows-Chalk tentatively walked through the door, stepping carefully around Vulpes Inculta’s body. He left the door open as he entered. Joan immediately tried to spring to her feet, eager to greet him but she howled in pain, collapsing hard against the wall as sweat dotted her brow, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Follows-Chalk darted forward, kneeling beside her.

        “Don’t move!” he said, taking her hand. She jerked away from the touch and saw a flash of hurt in his eyes before comprehension. A hot red flush rose in her cheeks as she twisted her face away.

        “I’m fine,” she said quickly. She reached out and took his hand with purpose, squeezing it tightly before turning back to face him. He was looking at her with concern that he was trying to carefully mask, and not being terribly successful at it. She gave him a weak smile, trying to fortify both of them.

        “Joshua said that you could stand to see a friendly face,” Follows-Chalk said, keeping his eyes trained carefully on her own. A well of appreciation rose within her and she could have hugged him if she weren’t filthy and in pain.

        “I can’t believe you’re here,” she said. He looked almost the same as he had several years ago—heavily tattooed, still adorned with beads and feathers and the decorated baseball cap he favored. Thin lines around his eyes crinkled as he smiled at her.

        “Joshua has been planning this attack for several years now. It has been going pretty well! We’ve been kicking the Legion tribe’s butts, they barely stood a chance,” he said, his tan chest puffed out and proud.

        They sat for a while as Follows-Chalk explained the situation to her: her theory had been correct, that Joshua Graham had indeed planned his attack to happen during the darkness of the new moon. The Canaanites—significantly expanded now—had been lying in wait for the past six days, watching the city from a few miles east in some mountainous wilderness.

        “Joshua said this was our Jericho,” Follows-Chalk continued, satisfied.

        Joan chuckled darkly.

        “I got here about three days ago,” she said, staring dully out into the hallway.

        “We saw that there was some commotion a couple nights ago—they seemed very excited about something, a bunch of wagon carts left all at once,” Follows-Chalk replied with quietly dawning horror. He looked away from her and Joan jerked his hand in hers.

        “Hey,” she said, pulling him back to look at her. His lips were downturned.

        “Don’t worry about it. You couldn’t have known. Hell, I’m just glad you’re here now,” she continued gratefully. Follows-Chalk seemed to perk up at this.

        “God must really like you, huh? Shot in the head… all of this,” he gestured at the room around them. “Someone is really looking out for you up there, hey?”

        Joan smiled at him.

        “I’d like to think so. So…” she trailed off, feeling more like herself than she had in days. “What are _you_ doing here? I thought you left to go see the civilized lands.”

        “I almost did,” Follows-Chalk admitted. “I wandered the wilderness for a few weeks until I heard that Joshua was looking for good men. That he needed help for something big he had decided to start planning.” He shrugged at her. “I have always admired Joshua. If he needed help, then I wanted to help him. Civilization could wait.”

        He paused and eyed her ruefully.

        “Civilization looks like it is overrated anyway, I think. But hey,” he continued, brightening. “It’s good for you that I didn’t see the civilized lands after all, right? I wouldn’t be here to help you right now.”

        Joan frowned at him.

        “You can still see them. Come out to Vegas with me sometime. It’s about as civilized as you can get these days, trust me, I’ve seen it all,” she said. She felt slightly uncomfortable that Follows-Chalk had so readily abandoned his dream, even for Joshua. He tilted his head back and chuckled at her.

        “I like this life better. I have seen the things civilized people do to each other now. I can see why Joshua doesn’t like it,” he replied with a surprising air of finality. Joan decided not to push him on it. Follows-Chalk bent over her leg, taking her in with a scrutinizing eye and she covered her thigh with her hand again, feeling a prickle of shame.

        “Joshua said you had some pretty bad injuries.” Follows-Chalk let out a low sad whistle. “He was not joking. I’m no healer, but I’ll do what I can to patch you up.” Joan sat back as he pulled out a few supplies from a satchel around his waist: a roll of gauze, a clay bottle, and a poultice. Joan held her hand up as he opened the bottle.

        “Hang on,” she said, and he stilled, looking at her quizzically.

        “There’s probably some Med-X here in the compound. If you go and get me some then you can bandage up my leg,” she said. Follows-Chalk stared at her for a beat before shaking his head.

        “Joshua said that you might ask for that. He told me to tell you no.”

        “ _God damn it_ you have got to be fucking kidding me!” Joan burst, glaring at Follows-Chalk. He recoiled from her, his eyebrows arching high on his forehead, nearly under the bill of his cap. She grabbed his arm and he looked down at her hand.

        “You can take it up with him if you’re mad about it,” he said evenly, gently prying her fingers off of him. “But he seemed pretty serious. I’m not going to go against his wishes.”

        Joan flopped back against the wall, staring hard at the ceiling as Follows-Chalk dribbled some of the muddy liquid over the hole in her calf. It seared and she clenched her hands into fists and breathed deeply. _Fucking Canaanites_ , she thought bitterly.

        “This looks infected,” he said worriedly, wrapping the gauze around the poultice he had secured to her calf, gingerly lifting her leg as he worked. “I cleaned it as best as I could. Joshua told me that when you go home you’ll have a better healer look you over. I hope he’s right.”

        “There are good doctors in Vegas, don’t worry,” she said through gritted teeth. Doctors that won’t fucking hesitate to give me Med-X, she thought again, narrowing her eyes at the spiderweb of cracks in the ceiling.

        “I don’t think I can do anything for your feet,” Follows-Chalk said mournfully, looking down at them. Joan sighed.

        “I’ll be alright,” she said before looking down at her mangled toes. Now that the imminent threat of torture and death weren’t hanging over her, she saw them in a new light. Heavy dark hands squeezed at her insides as it occurred to her that she might never be able to walk again. She lowered her head, pinching her lips together painfully, tears welling up in her eyes once more at the thought. As if taking everything else from me wasn’t enough, she thought miserably.

        She was on the verge of finally breaking down and crying when a fresh wave of gunfire erupted from outside, cutting through the already substantial racket. She and Follows-Chalk both jolted, looking around the room with wide eyes. Follows-Chalk sprang silently to his feet, drawing out a pistol, alarm on his face when Joan seized his calf, her fingertips digging in harder than she had intended, her pulse growing rapid.

        The gunfire wasn’t mechanical—it was laser. She shot up as she heard more of it and fresh yelling from outside, mostly in Res.

        “What is that strange noi—”

        “Follows-Chalk,” Joan cut him off, speaking quickly. “I need my Pipboy. It’s that thing I wear on my arm, do you remember it? It’s in an office at the far end of this hallway, probably lying on the desk. I need it now!”

        He turned and looked at her, uncertain.

        “Joshua gave me strict instructions that I was to stay by your side until he returned,” he replied. Joan shook her head quickly, her dark hair fanning out.

        “ _I need it_!” she commanded him and he flinched away from her. He still looked hesitant but he obediently turned and jogged out of the cell, hopping lightly over Vulpes Inculta’s body.

        For a moment through the hope that flared inside, Joan felt that bright, almost anxious erratic buzzing sensation within her after all these years, her cheeks flushing pink in the darkness. Joshua had purposefully sent the one person she knew from the Dead Horses tribe, and he had ordered him to stay by her side until he came back to her. The tears that threatened her eyes abated and she smiled to herself, feeling warmth rush down to her fingertips.

        Follows-Chalk returned a moment later and she gasped, smiling widely—her Pipboy was in his hands. He handed it to her and she felt an almost overwhelming flood of relief as she latched it back where it belonged on her forearm. She dusted off the screen and pulled up the radio, her heart pounding in her chest with nervousness. She prayed Vulpes Inculta hadn’t broken it or damaged it in some way as she waited with bated breath as the list of available radio signals populated. After a moment a familiar name finally popped up and she dialed to it as fast as she could.

        “Yes Man?” she asked cautiously.

        “Ma’am?!”

        Joan cried out in relief at his voice, pulling her Pipboy to her forehead and leaning against it, laughing and nearly crying again.

        “Ma’am, are you okay?” Yes Man asked her frantically.

        “Yes! Yes I’m okay, is that you outside? Are my Securitrons here?”

        “Yes, Ma’am! I’m so sorry it—” Joan cut him off, hearing more gunfire outside.

        “Be careful, Yes Man—do not attack the Canaanites!” she ordered him swiftly. “They’re on our side. Don’t shoot at anyone who isn’t wearing football pads!”

        The laser gunfire immediately died down outside and she could hear the stock voice of one of the Securitrons that usually inhabited the Strip telling the Canaanites that they had been commanded to stand down and that they were with Joan. The rest of the gunfire ceased too, though she could still hear panicked babbles of talking from the Canaanites.

        “What on earth—” Follows-Chalk murmured before being cut off again by Yes Man.

        “I’m so sorry, Ma’am!” he said quickly. “We’ve been in New Mexico for the past two days searching the desert. As soon as I figured out you weren’t there, I knew there was only one other place you could be, we came as fast as we could!”

        Joan patted her Pipboy tenderly, smiling down at it. She was sorry that she had ever doubted him.

        “It’s alright, Yes Man. I know you did the best you could. I’m… mostly in one piece. I’m alive anyway.”

        Yes Man sighed with relief.

        “I’m thrilled to hear that, Ma’am.”

        The radio went silent and Joan leaned forward, putting her hand back down to the floor. Now that Yes Man was here she felt suffocated being in this cell, the walls feeling as though they were closing in on her. She glanced over at the corner where barely twenty four hours ago she had been with Vulpes Inculta. She sharply twisted her head away, anxiety clawing into her stomach.

        “I need to get out of this room,” Joan said, sweat starting to gather on her temple. Follows-Chalk was sitting on the floor beside her and this time he shook his head firmly, frowning.

        “Joshua told me we need to stay put until he gets back,” he reiterated sternly. Hot frustration bubbled up inside of her and she glared at him before speaking quickly again.

        “I’ve been trapped in this room for three days. Please. At least take me out into the common area. I can’t bear to be in here anymore.”

        Follows-Chalk looked unhappy but still shook his head again.

        “Joshua said no. I’m sorry. I am sure he’ll be back soon, it sounds like the fighting is basically over,” he said. Joan grabbed his hand and clenched it between her own. Fresh tears welled as she looked directly into his warm blue eyes.

        “ _Please_ ,” she begged. “You don’t know what he did to me in this room. I can’t…” she trailed off, biting her lip painfully and screwing her eyes shut, trying to contain the flood. Follows-Chalk hitched, his eyes wide as a dark blush rose high in his cheeks.

        “ _Please take me outside_. Even if it’s just out in the hall, I don’t care,” she said, her voice cracking.

        “… Okay,” Follows-Chalk said quietly before pulling himself to his bare feet. He leaned down and gently hoisted her up, his warm hands gentle under her knees and shoulder blades. Joan jerked uncomfortably at first, her breathing thin and ragged before regaining control of herself; she leaned hard against him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, burying her face in his chest as he walked with her out of the room.

        “Wait,” she said, her voice muffled. He paused as they stood in the doorway and Joan pulled away from him as much as she could manage before leaning over his arms and spitting on Vulpes Inculta’s body. It was a petty and meaningless victory, but it was one she could call her own. The corner of Follows-Chalk’s lip turned up as he proceeded forward, carrying her to the common area that housed the throne. Joan determinedly stared anywhere but the patch of ground directly in front of it. He set her down gently before falling beside her, sitting with his tan legs crossed in front of him.

        Where two double doors had once been was an enormous gaping hole in the wall from the mines that had detonated. Joan sat up straight, looking outside. Most of the adobe wall had also been torn down and set ablaze and she could distantly see a touch of dusky purple at the horizon.

        More immediately there was restrained chaos—Legionaries were being tied up and herded toward the compound, stepping around the numerous corpses that were strewn across the sand. Most of the bodies were clad in blood red and football pads, only a few were decorated with tribal tattoos. Joan stiffened as she saw a Legionary resisting against two Canaanites; he was swiftly shoved to his knees and shot in the back of his head for his efforts. Joan swallowed, watching them. She wanted to draw her knees up to her chest, but could not. She looked away from the execution and spotted something less grisly—at a distance were her Securitrons. She sat up as straight as she could, brightening considerably. They stood silhouetted against the lightening horizon, large and imposing, their screens bright against the darkness. There were about a dozen of them—significantly fewer than she would have expected, she noted with a brief frown—but they were there and she could have cried to look at them. Two years spent traveling across America and taking the Institute in Boston felt like a lifetime. Hell, she thought, the last three days felt like a lifetime all its own.

        A fresh silhouette appeared in the jagged hole of the wall of the compound, harshly illuminated by the flames outside. Joshua Graham. He dusted off his white sleeves and stepped inside. The specks of red on his bandages had spread and darkened, turning black. He jerked his head when he saw Joan and Follows-Chalk sitting against the wall.

        Anger flashed across his eyes and he strode across the room to them, staring hard at Follows-Chalk. Joan thrust her arm out protectively in front of him, ignoring the pain in her feet.

        “Follows-Chalk only did what I told him. I made him take me out of the cell,” she said quickly, meeting Joshua’s glare with a hard look of her own. The two stared at each other for a tense moment with determination etched on each of their faces. Follows-Chalk glanced nervously between them.

        After a beat Joshua relented, his shoulders relaxing, his blue eyes losing their hard edge the longer he stared at Joan. He turned to Follows-Chalk.

        “Go back outside. There are still a lot of Legionaries that need to be dealt with.”

        “Yes, Joshua,” Follows-Chalk replied before hopping up and walking quickly out through the hole in the wall. Joan watched him leave with a touch of sadness; she had wanted to thank him, or at least say a proper goodbye.

        She flicked her eyes back up to Joshua, taking him in for the first time since she’d seen him. He looked very nearly the same as he had seven years ago. Perhaps the grooves around his eyes were a touch deeper, but that was it. He still wore his SLCPD vest and snakeskin belt and shoes. He watched her too as she stared at him before slowly approaching her, taking a seat beside her on the floor and propping his knee up, turning to face her. Her own legs were awkwardly jutted out and stiff.

        “What on earth are those— _things_ ,” he said, jerking his head out to the robots dotting the horizon.

        “My Securitrons,” she replied, twisting her torso to face him. She realized that she had never really mentioned them to him, that she had awoken them from their slumber just under Caesar’s nose. “They helped me take Hoover Dam and have worked for me since then.” The corner of her lip curved up.

        “You didn’t think I held power over the Mojave all on my own, did you?” she asked wryly. Joshua looked out at the machines, his eyes sharp.

        “No. I can’t say I was expecting that though.”

        She glanced up at him, her brows meeting each other briefly. Something in his tone sounded displeased to her.

        “What are they doing here?” he asked her.

        “Rescuing me. Well, trying to. I sent out a distress signal to Ye—to my personal robot when I was first caught by the Legion, out in New Mexico.”

        “What were you doing in New Mexico?” he asked, facing her fully. His brows were lowered and he looked suspicious. She pulled away from him, feeling warm in the face.

        “I was doing reconnaissance,” she lied. She wasn’t sure why, and she nervously stroked her thumb against her forefinger. She could see in his face that he didn’t believe her.

        “Were you working with the Legion?” he asked bluntly. He seemed to loom over her despite sitting at a respectful distance. She straightened, glaring at him, furious that he would even accuse her of such a thing.

        “What the fuck, no I wasn’t goddamn working with them! They had me locked up, do I fucking _look_ like I was here of my own free will?” She swept her arm down at her mangled leg and feet.

        Joshua jerked back from her, turning his face away.

        “I... I just had to be sure. But you’re right. You were clearly being held prisoner,” he said, sounding tired. Joan bristled. The elephant had charged into the room. Joshua continued to look out onto the horizon as shards of pink stretched out through the dull blue and purple of the night sky.

        He turned his head and looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

        “Are you alright?”

        “No I’m not fucking alright!” she spat at him, immediately regretting her outburst. She inhaled slowly and deeply, trying to calm herself. She was feeling steadily worse now that adrenaline and raw terror weren’t holding her together. She was exhausted, in terrible pain, humiliated and angry now. But she tried to steady herself—Joshua had just saved her life. He didn’t deserve her anger. She flexed her hands, wishing she could punish someone who did deserve it. Unfortunately he was sprawled dead on the floor outside her cell. Rage and sorrow flared in her and she felt that she had been robbed again—Joshua had killed Vulpes Inculta. It struck her with horror that he had done in a single night what she had spent years and tons of caps and resources planning to do. She had traveled across America, endured months in Boston, become the leader of an entire organization—this entire situation would have never even happened if she hadn’t done that. All for Joshua to deliver a single devastating strike against the Legion in one fucking night.

        She buried her face in her hands, wanting to scream with fury. He had stolen this from her, and confused rage and hurt dug into her like knives. Her breath hitched with the effort of not lashing out at him.

        “I know what the Legion… what _he_ was capable of,” Joshua said hesitantly, mistaking her rage for grief. She stiffened at the melancholy note in his voice before jerking her hands away from her face and slamming her bruised fist against the ground.

        “ _Do not fucking pity me_!” she shrieked at him. He stared back at her unflinchingly. Her eyes were red and swollen in the early morning gloom, her small shoulders heaving up and down as her fist trembled against the dirt of the floor. She buried her face in her hands again, this time dangerously close to sobbing. She wanted to apologize to him, she wanted to scream at him, she wanted more than anything to be home. She wanted to inject herself with so much Med-X that she would never feel anything again.

        Joshua’s hand touched her shoulder.

        “I know what you’ve been through,” he said quietly. She parted her fingers before sliding them away from her face, looking up at him.

        “You’ve been through Hell. You’ve endured your own baptism by fire,” he said, looking steadily into her eyes. Within them she saw what she had always secretly and desperately craved from him: mutual respect and understanding. She stared back and everything else in the room seemed to melt away as the cazadors buzzed inside her, reborn.

         “You’ve survived,” Joshua said, his hand still firm on her shoulder. It radiated warmth.

        “You were hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed,” he continued. “Because the fire that burns in you is the same fire that burns within me.”


	11. We'll Meet Again

Chapter 11: We’ll Meet Again

_To the folks that I know, tell them it won't be long; they'll be happy to know that as you saw me go I was singin' this song_

        Joan buried her face in her hands again, this time to mask the spring of tears that blurred her vision.

        “I’m sorry I shouted at you,” she whispered, her voice shuddery. Pain jerked hard in her stomach and abruptly she leaned over and retched, dry heaving and spitting out onto the dirt floor. She grunted in pain, one hand clenched over her stomach, the other digging into the ground to support herself. She retched harder, her tongue enormous in her mouth, choking on it. Joshua gently pounded her on the back and she sputtered and coughed, her eyes watering. She heaved and gasped.

        “How long have you been here?” he asked quickly, leaning toward her.

        “Three—three days,” she choked, trying to stop fire from coming out of her throat, blinking rapidly. Joshua reached into one of the pockets on his vest and withdrew a canteen of purified water.

        “I’ll assume you haven’t had any food or water in that time. Here, drink this,” he said and pulled her closer to him. She jerkily took her hand from her stomach and he tucked the canteen into it before unscrewing the cap for her. She threw her head back and upturned the canteen and he quickly snatched it back from her, splashing both of them with water.

        “Drink slowly,” he commanded as she clawed back out for it, her expression needy. “Drink it slower or you’ll vomit again,” he said and pressed the canteen back into her hands. She obeyed him and took a small careful sip. It was like a drop of rain in the desert of her mouth and she looked at him again. He nodded at her and she took another slow sip. The water seemed to absorb into her tongue instantly. She longed to chug the canteen, to chug ten of them, but she knew he was right. Her stomach quivered with pain again. She promised herself that when she arrived back in Vegas—she could faithfully think ‘when’ now and not ‘if’, she thought gratefully—that she would jump into the Tops swimming pool and never leave it again.

        For a long while she worked her way through the canteen and he sat close beside her as she slowly drank. Her face was warm and pink the entire time, but she didn’t care. She wanted desperately to close her eyes and lean against him.

        For the first time in months she thought of Nick Valentine and June Rockwell. How easily and carelessly affectionate they were with each other, as if it were as natural as breathing, as though there was nothing wrong with what existed between them. Her chest squeezed as she thought of the nightmarish mockery of affection she’d suffered recently and she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around herself, the empty canteen slipping out of her fingers and landing on the compacted dirt.

        “What’s wrong?” Joshua asked sharply, staring down at her hunched form.

        “Nothing,” she said tiredly. She felt numbly humiliated; what was she going to do, tell him after all these years that she felt things for him? He had spelled it out clearly enough before they parted in Zion: she was a friend to him. Even if that hadn’t happened, he could guess well enough some of the things she had endured at Vulpes Inculta’s hands. Her ego couldn’t withstand the look of unrestrained pity he’d surely give her if she confessed anything to him now. ‘ _Poor damaged Joan’_ , she thought in a grim parody of his voice, ‘ _she’s all emotional after being saved; her time with the Legion boys has made her a little crazy’_. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the tears of shame that struggled to break free. Not to mention that she truly did need to return home; now that her basic need for water was met, her leg and feet were searing with intensity. She desperately needed a doctor.

        She couldn’t leave without doing something though. She turned and looked at him, swallowing past the lump in her throat. He was watching her and she felt a small glow at the concern in his eyes. Hesitantly she reached out and touched his hand. He stiffened as she placed her hand over his own, gently wrapping her small fingers over his, white on red. The scar of her forefinger stretched over his own disfigured skin.

        “I’m going to miss you,” she said, staring earnestly into his eyes. They widened before settling back to normal.

        “You need to get back to the Mojave,” he said quietly. “That leg of yours seems to be developing an infection and you need food and water.”

        “I know,” she said somberly. Her hand was still cupped over his, warmth burning between them. She wanted to hold on to this moment forever.

        “Joan, I—”

        “I know.”

        She lifted her Pipboy up to her face and finally pulled her hand away, opening the radio.

        “Yes Man?” she said, trying to ignore the wringing sensation in her stomach that had nothing to do with her terrible hunger.

        “What can I do for you, Ma’am?” he replied. Joan smiled weakly at her Pipboy.

        “I’m ready to go home.”

        “I’ll be right there!”

        A moment later she and Joshua could hear the sound of a single wheel flying toward the compound and Joshua stiffened as Yes Man appeared in the hole in the wall. Joan’s eyes flew open wide.

        “Yes Man! I didn’t expect you to actually be here yourself,” she said, shocked. He jaunted on his wheel, making a shrugging motion with his arms.

        “I thought you’d be happy to see me!”

        “Well I am, of course, but—wait, who’s watching Vegas?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

        “No worries, Ma’am, this is just a small partition of me. _Most_ of me is still watching the Strip right now! Vegas is fine. Cass, Arcade and Boone are waiting for you at Hoover Dam. You ready to get underway?”

        Joshua was staring at Yes Man, his eyebrows arched high; Joan stifled a chuckle at his bemused expression.

        “Almost. There should be a cart outside… assuming they didn’t destroy it, that has my guns and supplies on it. Can you have one or two of the Securitrons take it back to Vegas with us?” she asked.

        “Absolutely, Ma’am, was there anything else?”

        Joan looked at Joshua, who had stood up, patting the dust and dirt off his legs. He looked down at her for a moment and there was a dense pause in the air between them.

        “I have to get back to work myself,” he said. “There’s still much to do.”

        “Of course,” Joan replied. She wanted to reach out to him. She did not.

        “God watch over you on your journey back to the Mojave,” he said before stepping aside Yes Man and finally exiting through the hole in the wall. Joan stared at his back as he left. She promised herself that this wasn’t the end.

        “Oh my goodness, Ma’am, your _feet_!” Yes Man shrieked, piercing her thoughts. She jerked back to face him and gave him a grim smile.

        “They smashed them with hammers,” she said. “I can’t walk. You’re going to need to carry me, if that’s alright.”

        “Everything is alright because you say it’s alright, Ma’am,” Yes Man said, wheeling close to her. It was awkward and she winced with pain but after a moment he had gathered her up into his metal arms. She didn’t flinch away from him at all, instead burrowing in close to his cool metal exterior. She finally felt safe. He turned and wheeled her out into the sunrise and she inhaled deeply. Despite the stench of blood, gunpowder and smoke she could finally breathe in fresh air.

        “Wait,” she said as they crossed the threshold of the compound. Obediently he halted. She looked around and did not see Joshua; she leaned in close to Yes Man’s screen, speaking quietly.

        “Do you have my Med-X?”

        “Absolutely, Ma’am,” Yes Man said and beside her a panel popped open close to the end of his arm. Within the panel was a gleaming set of needles, loaded and ready. Joan sighed and extracted one, shoving up the sleeve of her suit.

        “God, you are perfect, Yes Man,” she said. Her arm was thinner than it should be and it was easy to find the vein. She injected herself and sighed again with joy. Oh thank you sweet and merciful God I knew you were looking out for me, she thought. It was a conservative dose—by her standards—but it was enough. Yes Man turned and they set out to leave. They had wheeled maybe a dozen feet into the sandy yard when she stopped him again, sitting up in his arms.

        “Wait.”

        “What’s wrong, Ma’am?”

        “My gun. My .45 pistol. It’s still inside. Probably on Vulpes Inculta’s body, it’s laying in the hallway. Can you go get that for me?” she asked and he bobbed up and down in agreement.

        “Yes Ma’am, let me just set you down.”

        She gritted her teeth as he lowered her to the ground as carefully as he could before wheeling away back inside the compound. She was looking at the burning and smoking wall when she heard pained groaning; she turned, wincing as she dragged her legs to face the opposite direction.

        The pole that she had been lashed to when she had her feet beaten with the hammers had a new occupant now—a young looking Legionary. There were several other fresh poles erected, each laced with a man in football pads, lined up neatly. They were sagged and moaning; coldness snaked inside her stomach. Standing at a distance opposite them was Joshua, a line of Canaanites beside him. The coldness shot into dread within her.

        Standing beside Joshua Graham was a large pile of stones.

        She watched in horror as he leaned over, drawing one up from the pile. He hefted it in his hand for a moment; the young Legionary facing him cried out in fear and it stabbed into her heart. Joshua cast the first stone, striking the Legionary with it heavily in the chest and he screamed out, crying in pain and terror, curling in on himself. Ice shot up Joan’s fingers as the other Canaanites joined Joshua, hurling stones at the line of Legionaries.

        She had no love for the Legion, especially not after the last three days, but this was wrong. Barbaric. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath and exhaled sharply as tormented cries and shrieks tore the air. An awful sickly dread, one that had been incubating within her since her second journey to Zion, rose to the surface as she watched them, her eyes wide.

        “Here you go, Ma’am, is this it?” Yes Man had returned and she distractedly looked up at him: in his metal clamps was the gun Joshua had given her. She couldn’t bear to look at it, instead shoving it inside her suit jacket. Yes Man picked her up back up and she held onto him tightly, wishing she could block out the screaming that was growing louder and more frantic in pitch.

        “Let’s go, Yes Man,” she said quickly. As they wheeled away she caught Joshua’s eyes and he didn’t even seem to see her—there was nothing but coldness there, frozen with hard prideful satisfaction as he continued to heave stones at the slowly dying Legionary.

        Joan blinked hard, breathing rapidly. It was all too much. She scraped at the panel on Yes Man’s arm, prying open the compartment of Med-X with her fingernails. Yes Man balked at her.

        “Though you _obviously_ know best, Ma’am,” he began nervously, wheeling her outside the adobe walls and picking up speed. “It might not be among your _better_ ideas to take more Med-X. Arcade said—”

        He broke off as Joan ignored him and stabbed the needle into her arm through her suit jacket, depressing the plunger as far as it would go, throwing her head back and grimacing. She tossed the used needle away into the dust and screwed her eyes shut as she pushed it all away—X6-88, the rape, the torture, the monster she had just seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you very much for reading! It was intense and I salute everyone who carried on with me. Part 4 is fully drafted but still needs considerable editing and rewriting, so it'll definitely be a longer wait than usual til that gets posted.
> 
> As usual, a list of all the songs used for the chapter titles (no fic title this time):
> 
> Renegade - Styx  
> I'm a Wanted Man - Royal Deluxe  
> Knock Me Down - Youngblood Hawke  
> Bury Me Face Down - Grandson  
> The Unforgiven - Blakwall (Yes, this is a cover)  
> Control - Halsey  
> Seven Devils - Florence + The Machine  
> Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea - MISSIO  
> Gladiator - Zayde Wolf  
> Climbing the Eyewall - Diablo Swing Orchestra  
> We'll Meet Again - Vera Lynn
> 
> Fun fact about Chapter 4 (Bury Me Face Down): the original title for that chapter was Stronger than You, with the attached lyrics "I know you think I'm not something you're afraid of, cause you think that you've seen what I'm made of". And then I chickened out because it felt too wrong to use such a beautiful and wholesome song for such a heinous fucking bit of writing haha
> 
> Also a link to my Joan/FNV related tumblr where I post dumb shit and occasional fic doodles: https://yesjejunus.tumblr.com/
> 
> Whelp, see you all next time when we see just what kind of man Joshua Graham has turned out to be...


End file.
